


Au Coup Par Coup

by traipsingexodus



Series: Homunculus [5]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Blood and Gore, Crime Scenes, Detective Noir, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kalos Region, Murder, Mystery, Occult, Organized Crime, Pokephilia, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 108,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traipsingexodus/pseuds/traipsingexodus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ill wind blows through Lumiose as savage murders shock the city. A king is rising to take his throne, opposed only by the Merchant and Mystic, the Mortician and Blade, the Errant and Embrace. Aided solely by their own wits and the powers of cryptic prophecy, they seek to impede his rise - but a king is not without his loyal subjects to stop such treachery.</p>
<p>[Features characters from Scholar's Folly. Prior reading recommended but not required.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Raymond had taken this alleyway on his way home from work more times than he could count. Today was no different – trash bins overflowing with refuse from the cafes, stacked pallets from shipments and the odd pile of garbage he figured was likely home for a cafe owner's Trubbish. He paused his walk to glance down a smaller alley – it was darker, and there was a sizable dumpster for him to hide behind and take care of business. He ducked into the alley and unzipped his pants. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief as he emptied his bladder behind the dumpster.

A stinging pain exploded across his neck, and as his hands flew up to it to stay the blood, it overflowed through the cracks in his fingers, up and over, down and under his hands. Onto his shirt, the ground, everywhere - his legs buckled under him and his world flipped. His desperate attempt to keep the blood from flowing between his slick fingers was going nowhere, and his eyes, wild with fear, caught sight of a small figure skulking above him. The sounds of his cries were twisted instead into a carrying gurgle, and his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Small glints shone in the dark, seemingly floating, and then a wide grin of cruel teeth unzipped in the ether. He caught sight of blood-soaked claws coming up to the opening maw, watched it sup the blood from them, and heard a strange sound. It was inhuman, but eerily familiar: a sadistic giggle, barely audible.

This wasn't quite how Raymond had expected things would have panned out when his time came. Everything slowed to a crawl, and the once obscured figure above him came into sharper relief, illuminated by what little light filtered into the alley. He raised his arms towards the figure desperately in a vain attempt to push it off of him - splatters of warm blood hit his face and with a terrible combination of the sounds of wet tears, crunching bone and popping sockets, he turned his head slowly to watch an arm sail several feet away, mangled to the point that it was nearly unrecognizable.

This must have been quite the sight to any onlooker, he thought inexplicably, but the painful silence in the alley impressed that there wasn't a soul nearby. He turned to look back at the blood-soaked Weavile atop him and swatted fruitlessly at it with his remaining arm, mouth agape, his cries of pain little more than constant, soft gurgles now. The creature grabbed hold of his other arm and savaged his shoulder; flesh tore, bone broke and then the world went black. Once more, though unheard now, the sick sound of tearing flesh, drawn out, until finally, with a loud, wet "pop" the second arm came loose, jostling Raymond's lifeless head about. This arm too was tossed aside nonchalantly and then, with an inexplicable grin, the Weavile plunged its hands into his chest, directly below his sternum and pulled him apart.

A second figure appeared from behind another dumpster and walked over to the corpse. "Hardly a fight in him. Pitiable." There was a pause. "It is done, _mon roi,"_ echoed in the alley.

A second, ethereal voice like a low, metallic rumble filled the air, "Take it. We must leave."

* * *

Ignace frowned at the large sign above the cafe. It was the last possible cafe d'Artagnan could have been alluding to in his cryptic musing, and if it was indeed his target, he was already too late. He passed by the front door of the cafe and found an entrance to the alley he was looking for. As he walked down its length, the all too familiar scent of spilled blood filled his nostrils. "Figures. Too late again," he muttered, his broad shoulders slumping. "All because d'Artagnan can't fucking give any of us a straight answer." He came across the body and knelt down before it to better survey the scene. Viscera was splattered about, and the smell of blood mingled powerfully now with the stench of urine and feces. The victim's face had been largely mauled beyond recognition and his arms were several feet away, one of them mostly a bloody pulp. He pulled a thin camera from his pocket and started taking pictures. As he zoomed into the exposed chest cavity of the poor soul, someone behind him screamed. Ignace sighed and stood to turn to the terrified civilian, who recoiled immediately and screamed again. He flashed his badge and barked, "Stop screaming please ma'am, I'm Detective Charles DeGaulle with the LPD, I've got every reason to be at a murder scene. You'll have to clear the area, you're interfering with an investigation."

The sight of the badge cut her screams short, and the terrified woman nodded meekly before she retreated back a step. "What happened?"

Ignace turned back to investigating the body, "This is a rather bloody, sensitive murder scene ma'am, please leave the alley." His eyes scanned the bloodied pockets where arms once connected with shoulders and then down to the splintered rib cage and frayed skin. "Claws," he muttered, "Pokemon claws. Great, that narrows it down to _only_ a roomful of fucking species."

The woman did not budge, but rather yelped. "A p-pokemon did this? Why? Is there a wild, c-crazed pokemon running about?" she stammered.

He grunted in annoyance and stood again to face her, this time waving her off. "No reports that such a thing is happening ma'am, I wouldn't worry about it. Now please, clear the area or I will remove you from it myself." The woman retreated from the alley, and satisfied she was far enough away, he stowed his camera and pulled a penlight from his blazer, turned it on and ran it slowly across the body. His eyes spotted several hairs. "This'll help figure out who tore this poor sonofabitch up," he mumbled. Little victories, he supposed, and drew a pair of tweezers from his pocket and picked small hairs from the shoulder socket and the blood that had pooled around it then dropped them into a small plastic bag. Suddenly, voices carried on the wind from the end of the alley; he turned about and saw the woman speaking rather animatedly with a Lumiose police officer.

His stomach dropped as several more approached the pair and one pointed towards him in alarm. He turned about immediately and set off down the alley - if memory served him right, there was another alley that connected with this one that he could make a hasty retreat through. His ears caught the cries for him to stop as they echoed towards him and with a grimace he broke into a run. As he rounded the corner he ran almost immediately into a high wall. "For fuck's sake, drifblim, get me the fuck out of here." He pulled a pokeball from his belt and tossed it into the air and jumped to grab hold of one of the creature's yellow arms as it rose into the sky.

By the time it had risen high enough for him to see the rooftops he heard shouts from below. "This is the Lumiose Police Department, stow your Pokemon and get back down here immediately or we will be forced to pursue!" came a voice, "We repeat, we will pursue if you do not comply!" Empty threats, he thought privately, it was unlikely they'd come prepared to pursue him at all. Still, better out of the air sooner than later.

A gust caught the drifblim and pushed the two towards the tremendous tower in the center of the city. With a placid coo, the Pokemon pulled Ignace almost obliviously along. Ignace let out a sigh of relief and then smirked to himself. While it had been several months since he'd last been able to simply walk away from an investigation, he at least didn't have to fight his way out of this one. All of Lumiose stretched out in every direction around him. "Well damn," he thought, "I should do this more often." The skyscrapers that ringed the entire city let in small shafts of brilliantly orange sunlight that glistened across the rivers that ran through the city in several directions, while the buildings themselves let off glares so bright he thought it might actually make his landing difficult. He took a moment to admire the tower in the center of Lumiose and ponder the consequences of landing on top of it for lunch before glancing back down at the ground.

Here and there confused onlooks gazed up at him, some pointing, some calling out, some decidedly uninterested. So much for sooner rather than later. A second gust caught the drifblim, eliciting another coo of content from it that blew the pair towards a large clearing - a park, fortunately for Ignace, and not a river. "Set us down in the park drifblim," he called up. With a coo of approval, the duo began their slow descent.

Amid mutterings and awkward glances, Ignace touched down and returned the drifblim to its pokeball. He ducked into a nearby cafe immediately and scanned the sky. He was right - empty threats. Still, they could have very well tried to pursue on foot, though it was unlikely they'd ever quite find him. Or so he hoped.

" _Monsieur?_ Can I help you?" came a voice from behind.

Ignace turned around to face the waiter. "Sorry, is anywhere fine?" he replied, gesturing to the myriad empty tables. The waiter nodded and took down Ignace's order for a coffee before vanishing behind the bar. He pulled his C-Gear from his pocket and switched over to its Pokedex application. "Blue fur, claws, easy enough to figure out right?" he mumbled, punching filters into the application. He chuckled at the incredibly small number of results it spat back out at him. The waiter arrived with his coffee and he thanked him. "Well, it was either a male Meowstic, a Sneasel or a Weavile," he mumbled, then took a sip from his coffee, "Tossing meowstic out. Psychic types don't strike me as the stabby, rip and tear sort." He gave the entry on meowstic a quick read. "And given he hasn't been crushed into a fine powder, I'm betting sneasel or weavile." He took another sip from his coffee and stared intently at the entry upon the screen before he finally shrugged. "Least I've got the general line down." He finished his coffee and gave the waiter a curt nod before leaving.

* * *

It was darker now, far easier to duck any watchful eyes and return to his home with little interruption, though it didn't seem that the police were doing much to look for him, though he did pass a few rather harassed looking officers that were listening to unintelligible blabber on their radios. It was the the fourth murder in the last three weeks of this kind of brutality and seeming randomness, and they certainly didn't align with the few murders that Lumiose did see. He ascended the steps to his apartment and stopped in front of his door. It probably would be better to tell Ricard the news now. Plus he could call d'Artagnan a worthless sack of birdshit again.

He strode down the hall and fished out a keyring from his pocket. After fumbling with the myriad keys attached to it for a few seconds, he unlocked the door and let himself into the apartment. Ricard was in his chair, as always, staring intently at d'Artagnan and occasionally signing furiously at him.

"Your prophecies are about as helpful as wings on a dodrio. You didn't have anything else of worth to offer Ignace?" signed Ricard.

The xatu clicked his beak impatiently and stared back at Ricard.

"Don't take that tone with me d'Artagnan, I have every right to criticize the efficacy of your prophecies when there are lives at stake!"signed back Ricard. He stopped abruptly and turned to look at Ignace, embarrassment creeping across his face. "Ignace, I had no idea you would be coming by so soon," signed Ricard. "There's some pizza on the table in the kitchenette. Help yourself."

Ignace chuckled and signed back, "Didn't stomp my feet hard enough, sorry. Glad I caught this exchange though." He gestured between the xatu and his friend. "Maybe I'll go a bit easier on your xatu now that you've already laid into him." He pulled a slice of pizza from the box on the table and took a bite. "Pizza though, Ricard? Bit low-brow for you isn't it?"

Ricard contented himself with making a rude gesture at Ignace and grinning.

A voice echoed in the room, low-pitched and weary in tone, emanating seemingly from somewhere behind the xatu: _"If the two of you are quite done?"_ Ignace waved his hands sarcastically at d'Artagnan and walked back to the desk. " _The sight does not illuminate all, but rather raise flickering embers through which the tapestry of our destinies are read."_

'There he goes again with this talk,' signed Ricard. He turned to the collection of accounting books before him and turned a page, thoroughly disinterested. Ignace strolled over and picked up a ledger; he caught sight of several numbers with more zeroes than he thought he'd ever see in his life when Ricard snatched the book from his hand and waved him away from the desk. For a scrawny, short, deaf-mute, he was surprisingly vicious about keeping Ignace from sticking his nose into the books.

The xatu clicked its beak again and continued, a hint of disdain in its ethereal voice, _"This 'talk' is more than you give it credit for, Merchant. And you, Mortician. The sight is unclear at the best of times, incomprehensible at all others - to have even a chance at clearing the fog that hangs heavy over our hearts and homes is to give all your faith to it."_

Ignace had busied himself with making a cup of espresso in his friend's immaculate kitchen and grabbing another slice of pizza after Ricard had taken the ledger from him before he walked back to Ricard's desk and looked disinterestedly at the xatu when it had finished its speech. "That's all fine d'Artagnan, but you have to understand, like Ricard said, people are fucking dying out there, and me showing up two minutes too late doesn't help anyone," he explained. "I mean this last one you told me was probably the least helpful of them all. What the fuck was it, 'So falls a heartless man…' something something, I don't know. He was in the alley of Cafe Ultimo. The last fucking cafe I checked."

Again, the bird Pokemon clicked its beak, though now its tone was reproving and almost smug, _"So falls a heartless man, bereft of function and form, not spirit and kindness as heartless men are so wont to be. An end at the end - one step closer now, a king will ascend."_

Ricard signed at Ignace rapidly, "That makes sense, but only now that we know you arrived too late."

The detective raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure that?" he signed back.

"An end at the end, it means multiple things. Dead body found outside a cafe named _Ultimo_ , and it was the _last_ cafe you checked. Think about it," signed Ricard excitedly.

Ignace sighed and signed, "Yeah, yeah, and I found him in a dead-end offshoot of an alley too, so it all stacks together, but that doesn't fucking change the fact that I basically just wasted my time. I was fucked from the start and wasn't going to save this poor bastard because this 'tapestry' demands that I fucking show up too late."

The xatu flew up to Ricard's desk and perched itself atop a stack of books. In doing so, several more stacks fell over, though in slow motion, onto the floor and into a perfect stack again. _"You are neglecting one side of this coin, Mortician."_

Ignace threw the xatu an ugly look and signed furiously, "So what's the first part fuckin' mean then?"

_"So falls a heartless man, bereft of function and form, not spirit and kindness as heartless men are so wont to be,"_ repeated d'Artagnan, _"It is not the role of the Conduit to explain, only to relay. I am not possessed of the knowledge you seek, only the understanding that you have not yet fully illuminated this piece of the tapestry."_

Ignace threw his hands into the air and signed, "I'm going to review my evidence and turn in Ricard. I'll deal with this cryptic bullshit tomorrow. Maybe something will come to me in the pictures I took."

Ricard waved at Ignace's retreating back and then looked up at d'Artagnan. "He is rather irritable d'Artagnan, but it would not be remiss of you to be a bit kinder. Ignace has cast the worst lot of us three."

The xatu flapped its wings indignantly. _"So soon you spring to the Mortician's defense, yet you let him bring the Conduit to blows."_

Ricard chuckled mutely. "You are our guiding light d'Artagnan; your service is never taken for granted, cross as the heavily obfuscated information you give us may make me. But I will try to get Ignace to be a bit kinder in his words and gestures when I next see him and do the same, if you agree as well."

d'Artagnan clicked his beak again, though it was far softer now. _"I shall make every effort."_

* * *

Ignace flipped through the photos of the corpse on his computer disinterestedly. Papers, open anatomy books, a few old history books and compendiums of historical myths concerning Lumiose and Kalos as a whole were strewn about the apartment, their aged pages and battered covers mingling perfectly with the general squalor of the room. He had long since given up on properly using hampers for his laundry, and now his floors resembled a lumpy mess of stained carpet and lumpy clothing. Dishes were stacked about various fixtures in the room and had long since overflowed the sink. The dusty blinds over his window might as well have been boards nailed over it, he never raised them. He took another sip from his mug of coffee and rubbed his temples. Nothing about these photos seemed particularly unusual, they were just graphic products of a particularly vicious weavile. Or sneasel. He wagered anyway.

With a sigh of frustration he heaved himself out of his chair and strode to the large, wheeled corkboard that defined the center of his flat. Adorned with a large map of Lumiose and stuck with pins of the last few murders he traced invisible lines between them for the fifteenth time. No rhyme nor reason presented itself, as he expected - it seemed that the murders were not based on any sort of locational significance.

So what was he missing?

"So falls a heartless man, bereft of function and form…" he muttered. "Bereft of function and form. Heartless. Did he mean that literally? Literally heartless?" A smile split across his face. "It should be easy enough to see on the pictures I took."

It was not. With a shout of anger, he slammed his fist into his desk. "A bloody fucking mess, great. If there's a heart in there it's minced to fuck and back. And if it isn't I can't fucking tell." He pushed himself away from his desk and leaned back in his chair, groaning in frustration. "I need another fucking prophecy from d'Artagnan."

A minute later, he had barged into Ricard's apartment. "d'Artagnan, I've figured it out. Maybe. I need another prophecy to be sure. And I have to fuck up and show up late. And then I have to check the fucking chest cavity." A stone slipped into his stomach. He could at least argue that he was trying to stop murders, but this was actively letting one happen, and on a gamble no less.

Ricard gave Ignace a confused look. "I only caught a bit of that, can you say that again?" he signed.

As Ignace signed the statement to Ricard, d'Artagnan replied, _"I shall do my best to remain civil if you do the same, Mortician. Is this fair?"_

The detective nodded at the xatu. "Yeah, fine," he signed, "You got a prophecy for me or not?"

A long pause, and then a soft glow emanated from the eyes upon the xatu's chest. A quiet, ringing tone emitted from somewhere seemingly far away and then d'Artagnan said at last, _"No. The embers flicker, casting nothing of the tapestry into relief. This isn't something so simple as fate demanding we no longer meddle however, but rather something else. A foul wind is brewing, and it will snuff out the embers that have, admittedly, rather poorly guided us. Still, better a one-eyed guide than a blind one. A force beyond my power would rather we have the latter. Or perhaps worse, none."_

"So...what? What do I do?" asked Ignace flatly. "Just keep my thumb up my ass? Wait for this spooky power to just fuck us?"

_"Find some kindling,"_ replied the pokemon matter-of-factly, _"Is what I wager. Feed the fire, stoke the flames and steel the embers against this bitter wind."_

"What the fuck do you mean find kindling? Grab some twigs? Charcoal? What are you talking about d'Artagnan?" replied Ignace in exasperation.

The xatu replied with its approximation of laughter, a soft clicking of its beak and an odd song that hit unnatural lows. _"I am the Conduit, I know precious little about the form your kindling will take. I do have something concrete to offer, however."_

Ignace nodded. Attentive. Hopeful. "What?" he asked.

The laughter paused briefly and the xatu said simply, _"Take a raincoat with you tomorrow. It will rain, beyond a shadow of a doubt."_ Ignace scowled and the laughter resumed.


	2. Chapter 2

Ignace splashed water onto his face. He'd turned in far later than he intended the previous night, having spent most of it deliberating on d'Artagnan's cryptic advice. “Kindling” as he called it, could hardly have meant actual material to burn. He sniffed and brought a razor to his face to shave. “Then again, he really could have meant, hey, just bring me some fucking sticks,” he mumbled to his reflection as the razor removed the stubble on his chin. He ran the razor under steaming water and continued shaving. “I've got nothing in the way of leads though. I could just check the crime scene again I suppose.” He set his razor down. It was likely the police would be investigating the scene for most of the day, and possibly even well into the night. He turned about and went back out into bedroom. It was still worth it to stake out the location – perhaps their investigation would finish early.

He peeked through his blinds and scowled. D'Artagnan was right, it was indeed raining out there. He pulled out a coat alongside his clothing and thought longingly of a cup of coffee and a croissant from one of the many cafes he'd pass on the way to Cafe Ultimo. He stopped by his front door and pulled a duckbill cap and a brown medium-length wig from the drawer next to it. He pulled the wig over his short black hair, adjusted it in the mirror above the drawer and then fixed his hat. If this was anything like the last time, it was highly unlikely that the police had a particularly effective sketch of his face.

* * *

 Ignace popped the last of his croissant into his mouth and stared out at the street. Most of the early morning traffic had cleared, leaving only the occasional pedestrian out and about. The majority had their heads bent against the pounding rain, and some had clearly been caught unawares by the weather as they ran from overhang to overhang. He tore his eyes from passersby and glanced down at his watch. It was only eleven in the morning, but it would be worth a quick glance at the alley, right? He finished his coffee and thanked the waiter on his way out. The loud patter and pleasant scent of rain met him immediately and lifted his spirits somewhat. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but somehow, he felt that checking on the alley would be worth it.

It was. The scene seemed to have been completely cleared of police and prying eyes, though Cafe Ultimo was closed. He crossed the street and strode up to the entrance of the alley. With a furtive look around, he walked down it, heading towards the dumpster where the body had been. The overcast skies left the alley darker than it would usually be at this time of day, and the patter of rain would hopefully help muffle his own footfalls.

Here it was, the spot where that poor soul died, though no sign remained. Ignace frowned and strode down the end of the short alley and then turned about. Nothing. He rocked forwards and then backwards on his feet hoping to catch something he’d missed. Still nothing. He sighed – perhaps it would have been wise to ask d'Artagnan to have come along with him; he'd have some idea what to do, yes? He strode back to where the body once laid and crouched down to stare at the unusually clean concrete. There should have been stains, even faint ones. He ran a finger across a patch of wet concrete and mumbled, “Maybe they pressure washed it? Blood was fresh, might not have soaked in proper- what?” He lifted his hand and watched a dark patch of deep red begin to expand across the surface of the concrete.

A strange sense of dread filled his stomach, and the air became thick with the scent of death. The patter of the rain seemed to die out, and the winds stilled, replaced with oppressive, thick loathing and blind rage. Ignace scrambled away from the spot and tossed a pokeball out. “Charles, defensive stance, something's on the way to fuck us.” The bisharp materialized and raised its bladed arms up and dug its feet into the ground with a growl of affirmation. The patch of deep red bubbled out of the concrete. “Blood?” muttered Ignace incredulously. “How?” The patch bubbled more and spat out a formless figure that slowly coalesced into the shape of a dusknoir. The temperature in the alley dropped considerably.

A glowing red eye fixed itself upon Charles, then Ignace, and then a deep, raspy voice filled the air. “Taken. Lifeblood soaked into the earth, dusksoul taken by the King. Fortress unassailable, souls stolen away, swirling reliquary lost to time.” Charles took a step towards the dusknoir and grit his teeth. The reaper ignored him and pointed to Ignace, “Are you Kingseeker, dawnsoul?”

The detective stared back at the dusknoir, visible confusion etched upon his face. “I have no idea what the fuck you're saying,” he said at last, “Souls? Kingseeker? The hell are you talking about?”

The dusknoir shuddered erratically from top to bottom, and the temperature in the alley dropped considerably. “Knight of the Kingseeker: the dusk beckons. Rage and loathing of lifeblood; dusk consume the dawn!” The dusknoir lifted a scrap of cloth, tugged from somewhere unseen and dropped it into the puddle of blood below him. The blood bubbled intensely and the puddle grew in size before ejecting several shuppets and duskulls from it. They fixed their eyes on Ignace and Charles and charged them.

Ignace tossed another pokeball forward and called out, “Arcanine, give Charles a hand!” The imposing canine materialized before the approaching wave of ghosts and, after a howl of intimidation, shot a billowing ball of fire at a cluster of shuppets, setting them all ablaze. Deathly howls pierced the air, and Ignace saw the smoldering remains of the pokemon drifting to the ground, extinguished upon the wet concrete. Several avoided the gout of flame however, and took to assaulting his arcanine with a flurry of attacks, knocking it about and eventually over. With a howl of pain and frustration, the arcanine rose to its feet and launched a much longer gout of flame from its mouth, sending more smoldering shuppets and duskulls to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the puddle beneath the dusknoir begin to bubble intensely again.

Meanwhile, Charles deflected attacker after attacker, bladed arms seemingly sucking the light from their immediate vicinity, sending many of them rebounding away from him in pieces. There were still too many, however, and several shadow balls connected squarely with his stomach, leaving him doubled over and wheezing. Suddenly, Ricard’s prior insistences on training more than just two pokemon for combat haunted Ignace. The deaf bastard always won out in the end. His hand made for his drifblim’s pokeball but faltered - it would be as effective as an actual hot air balloon right now.

The pokemon swarmed about Charles and closed in, launching still more volleys of dark spheres of energy at him. They closed in further, obscuring his frame from Ignace's eyes, who launched himself forward in a vain attempt to pluck his pokemon from the assault.

A great groaning sound akin to tearing metal rang out, and the shuppets and duskulls went sailing away from Charles, thoroughly perforated. The bisharp fell to one knee, a grimace of pain etched across his face; metal burst was not a particularly pleasant technique given how much punishment it demanded for effectiveness. It looked to the dusknoir along with Ignace's arcanine and rose unsteadily to its feet. The ghost stuck out its arm, palm facing the ground and let out a low groan. The cloth it had dropped into the boiling blood began to lift itself out – as it floated closer to its hand, the puddle began to calm and changed from a deep crimson to a pitch black.

“Impressive, dawnsoul,” it moaned at last, “But the dusk is inexorable.” A small mote of deep purple rose in its fingertips and fell onto the cloth, which responded by emitting a brilliant purple wave of energy. All around Ignace and his companions, the broken and burnt bodies of the shuppets and duskulls began to shudder and reform.

“Fire blast him, the cloth, fucking anything!” shouted Ignace in a panic, “Charles, night slash the fucker!” A massive burning symbol flew at the dusknoir, with Charles following closely behind, arms shrouded still in an aura of darkness. The fire blast connected first, sending a plume of flame exploding outwards from the pokemon, and out of the flames Charles drew a long slash across the dusknoir's midsection. It pulled the glowing cloth from the air and balled it up in its hand. Before him, the dusknoir drifted down to the earth, the gaping tear in its midsection radiating the same curious purple aura that had surrounded its fingers. The reforming shuppets and duskskulls shuddered and collapsed into similarly colored motes of light, and the dusknoir slipped slowly through the concrete to the sound of a long, rasping moan.

Ignace ran up to Charles and knelt beside him. “Nice going there Charles,” he said with a pat on its shoulder, “You managed to grab that cloth too. Might come in handy if we hand it to d'Artagnan. You doin' alright?” The bisharp nodded and handed the cloth to Ignace. “Perfect,” he began, but was interrupted by a low whine and a nudge against his back. He looked back at his arcanine, which stared back at him with drooping, expectant eyes. “You did fine too,” he said, amused, “I didn't forget.” He rubbed the side of the arcanine's face and ruffled the wild mane of fur atop its head. The pokemon's eyes brightened and it barked happily in response. “Let's get back to d'Artagnan and see what he makes of this weird piece of cloth.”

* * *

 Weird didn’t exactly begin to describe this curious cloth the dusknoir had left behind. It seemed to be almost lighter than air, catching on the light breeze simply walking about with it in his hands generated. The faint purple glow that surrounded it would intensify for a brief instant at seemingly random intervals, and other times it seemed as if the glow had disappeared entirely from it. The simple act of holding this cloth alone filled Ignace with an odd sense of dread and fatigue, and he swore he caught the old scent of death on the wind at times.

He turned the cloth over several times in his hands, eyes poring over the frayed ends, wayward threads and curiously intact and smooth span of the cloth. He wasn’t too sure what drew him to it, other than a desperate desire to find something, _anything_ that could be construed as kindling, and the cloth certainly had some kind of odd power imbued into it with how much it made that weird pool of blood boil. He looked about the street, up at the dark grey skies and the now pouring rain and frowned. For one, the cloth completely repelled both blood and water. He watched the drops rolling freely down and, after a few seconds, tried to rub a droplet of water into the cloth - but it simply broke apart into smaller beads and slipped off all the same.

He crossed the street and looked up at his looming apartment building. Ricard or d’Artagnan would know something about this, he wagered: they were always the ones to dabble more in the occult and its history. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t set store by the concept of ghosts, ethereal energies, and lingering spirits - the existence of some particularly stubborn ghost pokemon made sure of that - but the shadier aspects of occultism left him doubting. Summoning rituals, arcane circles, the theatrical grandstanding of sacrificial offerings, and all the trappings associated with everyone one of those so called “occult practices” seemed unbelievable. He ascended the several sets of staircases to his floor and made his way down the hall to Ricard’s door. After several pounding knocks against it, the door cracked and a bloodshot, unamused eye peered back at him.

Ricard opened the door proper for Ignace, revealing his crumpled bedclothes, stubbled face and drooping eyes and signed furiously at him, “I may be deaf, but I’m not numb. You’re going to break my door off its hinges at this rate you brute. As it stands, I was sleeping, I’d expected you have guessed as much after last night.” He bent forward and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, head shaking slightly.

When his colleague had stopped being disappointed in him, Ignace signed his apology and offered the cloth to Ricard along with an explanation of what happened in the alley. “Sorry, I forgot that you might have turned in late trying to figure this out too.” He pointed to the cloth he’d handed his friend. “But I think we’ve got something a bit more pressing on hand. I have no idea what the hell it is that’s happening here really. Guesses, and maybe some really good ones, but just guesses,” he explained, “But I know this thing has some kind of crazy fucking power, or at least I’m thinking it does, seeing everything that it did. Anything in any one of those books you’ve got on ghost pokemon or something? And where’s d’Artagnan?”

He crossed the threshold and scanned the room; the foyer of the apartment remained largely unchanged, though he did notice several more books scattered about, likely all dead ends with no real information for Ricard to relay to him. A few cups of half-drunk coffee were sprinkled about as well, lending the entire room the delightful scent of coffee - soaked thoroughly into the air several times over to the point of being overpowering and slightly sickening.

He turned to see a figure emerge from Ricard’s study, as the ruffling of feathers and an angry clicking answered him. _“I_ was _resting from the considerable amount of duress I put myself through last night reading the tapestries, but you have done a splendid job of seeing to the end of that,”_ replied the xatu, the echoing tones of his voice thoroughly irritated. He landed beside the two and flapped his wings in annoyance. _“Nevertheless, I made a promise to Ricard and I intend to uphold it. What did you procure?”_

Ignace gestured to the cloth in Ricard’s hands and said, “Cloth. Ghost cloth or something. Not sure if it burns, but I was hoping this might have been the kindling you were talking about. Any thoughts?” He looked between the two. “Either of you?” he added in sign.

Ricard and d’Artagnan made their way to a bookcase towards the back of Ricard’s apartment, in his study proper and began scanning the myriad of books. Personally, Ignace found his friend’s affinity for texts to be a bit off-putting. They gave his study an incredibly imposing air, as his not inconsiderable wealth allowed him to purchase shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. Stranger still was Ricard’s insistence on keeping his bed in the study, where it clashed horrifically with the rest of the room. His eyes lingered upon the deluge of books upon his bed (and spilling out from underneath it) and wondered if Ricard even slept in his bed some nights.

 _“What exactly was it that dropped this cloth, Mortician?”_ called out d’Artagnan from the shelf.

Ignace snapped out of his reverie and joined the two in looking the shelf up and down, eyes scanning for any title that might help. “A dusknoir. A really cryptic dusknoir. No idea what it was talking about,” he explained. He tapped Ricard on the shoulder to get his attention and signed, “Mentioned dusksouls and dawnsouls, maybe dusksouls are what they call themselves, I don’t know - either way it didn’t take to Charles cutting it across the stomach too well though. Bit odd I think; never thought ghosts bled, nevermind purple energy.”

“Antiquated terms for the living and departed,” replied Ricard, “I believe it has some link to an old order of faith that existed in the Kalos region several centuries ago. Remnants are all we have left of them. It is a coincidence more than anything that the pokemon and term share a word.”

 _“If this is true, then you have come into contact with quite the ancient being, Mortician,”_ added d’Artagnan. He almost sounded amused. He went on, _“And you have slain it?”_

Ignace pulled a book labeled, _Discourses on the Departed: Examining the Trinkets of the Dead,_ from the shelf and shrugged, signing, “Doubt it. Charles got a really good slash across its stomach, but I seriously doubt that he killed it.” He set the book down and opened it to its table of contents before adding, “But it did let out some weird, long moan, so I could be wrong. You want to ask Charles yourself?” His hand went for the ball at his waist.

 _“That may be a good idea, yes,”_ replied d’Artagnan. Ignace obliged and tossed the ball out towards the xatu; with a flash of light the form of a bisharp materialized before the bird. “ _Thank you. Charles, I have a few questions, if you don’t mind my asking.”_ The bisharp responded by crossing its arms and giving the xatu a meaningful look and a sharp nod. _“Splendid. As far as you know, did you kill that dusknoir?”_

Charles looked taken aback, but his gaze hardened almost immediately as he shook his head, uttering a grunt of denial. His vocalizations were coarse, punctuated with sharp stops, and to Ignace, almost entirely nonsense. The detective’s eyes lingered on his pokemon as Charles gesticulated, tone rising and falling as the bisharp recounted what Ignace imagined was his take on the fight. He turned away and flipped through the book before him - this was d’Artagnan’s territory, he’d fill him in on the specifics of what Charles said afterwards. Body language only got him so far. He would busy himself instead with attempting to find some mention of anything a dusknoir would keep with it. He flipped to the index of the book when a voice spoke out.

 _“He has given all he can, I think,”_ said d’Artagnan placidly. He looked at the bisharp and clicked his beak approvingly. _“Thank you. You can return him to his enclosure if you so wish, Mortician.”_

Ignace waved the comment off. “Grab yourself some food or something Charles,” he mumbled, “Stretch that leg out or something if you really don’t want to bother going to a Center.” The bisharp nodded and made for Ricard’s kitchen. “Anything interesting?” he asked, glancing at d’Artagnan for a moment after scanning the index. “Something we can maybe use - ah, dusknoir, perfect.” He leafed through the pages, looking for those noted as bearing mentions of dusknoir.

D’Artagnan flapped up to the sturdy cedar table Ignace was using to pore over the tome. _“To an extent,”_ he said, somewhat unsure, as he shifted aside a short stack of books. _“As far as he knows, the dusknoir was injured, but not killed,”_ he continued, _“But he did have something curious to say about the cloth. You said holding it made you uneasy, yes?”_

“Hah!” shouted Ignace suddenly, “Got it! Listen to this!”

 

 _“When it comes to the discussion of the reaper’s cloth, it is necessary to first examine Dusknoir._  

_Dusknoir are known for their fascination with death and the spirit world, and some are seen to be responsible for ferrying souls to the afterlife in traditional Kalosian lore. Legends speak of dusknoir acting in a more sinister capacity, appearing at the site of the deceased, opening the ominous maws upon their stomachs and supposedly consuming the spirit energy of the soul that lingers within the body. Though this legend is the most widely circulated, there are those that paint the dusknoir is a more positive light, seeing them as guardians of the departed, easing the journey of the departed to the world beyond our own._

_Another even less prevalent view of dusknoir is one endemic specifically to the kingdom that once occupied present day Lumiose - tales spoke of dusknoir as neutral agents of death. They ferried spirits tirelessly and emotionlessly, and avoided contact with the living. Their neutral disposition has led to long forgotten tales speaking of foolish humans attempting to appeal to the emotions of a dusknoir and finding themselves injured or slain when they impede its single-minded mission._

_The reaper’s cloth, then, is a modern day item with roots in an ancient trinket of the same name - these curious purple strips of cloth were said to harbor the very essence of death within them. Some tales mentioned that they were made of material found only in the realm of spirits, while others explained them as the customary shrouds placed upon the deceased, but twisted and imbued with eldritch energies. The cloth itself was fabled to be alight with the whispers of the dead, and it supposedly filled any human alive who touched it with terrible dread and a sense of impending death. Some tales say the cloth could kill any human or living pokemon that touched it, and the more hysterical variants speak of death from simply witnessing it._

_Today, reaper’s cloth is notable for being heavily imbued with ghost energy, and it is a favored item of the duskull line - indeed, an evolutionary link between a dusclops holding a reaper’s cloth and a dusknoir has been drawn many times over by several notable researchers that have studied pokemon evolution and evolutionary catalysts. It is, however, an otherwise moderately unsettling but largely mundane piece of cloth, no different from one imbued with psychic or dark energies. It is largely believed that the reaper’s cloth of legend is much like the cloth we have today, though perhaps more strongly soaked in ghost energy, and surrounded with that powerful hallucinogen, superstition._

_As such, in the modern age, these tales are thought to be products of a time when the dynamics between Trainer and Pokemon were non-existent, and the more dangerous species that roamed the world were not so easily tamed -”_

 

“Alright, then it just trails off from there into looking at other shit, but damn, this is helpful, isn’t it?” he said after finishing the entry. He looked between Ricard and d’Artagnan. “Oh crap.” He signed at Ricard in apology, “Sorry, I read that aloud, here, read it yourself.”

Ricard waved the book off and signed back, “Don’t worry about it, d’Artagnan was kind enough to translate for me. You’ve certainly found a reaper’s cloth. The only issue is if it is this so-called ‘eldritch’ trinket or just a cloth that has been particularly inundated with ghost energy.”

 _“And if it is the kindling we require to continue our investigation,”_ added the xatu shrewdly. _“Moreover, if it is indeed what we seek, there is the matter of discovering how we are to burn it. In a manner of speaking.”_

Ignace closed the book and looked back at the shelves in Ricard’s apartment. Several stacks of books sat beside some of the shelves, as there was no longer any room to store the mute’s ever-expanding collection of texts. He gestured to the shelves and the stacks and then signed, “So, do we keep looking? Or is this enough? I’ve got a lighter on me I can try using, but I doubt we have to literally burn the kindling.”

The xatu clicked his beak in agreement. _“I believe it was, as many of the visions that befall me as the Conduit are wont to be, a metaphor. A means to relight the flames that guide us, a way to prevent this other force that would keep the tapestry shrouded in the dark from hindering us,”_ he mused.

Ricard dropped into his chair and signed to d’Artagnan, “How do you propose we use this cloth then?”

 _“The text that the Mortician read offered one idea as to the origins of these strips - burial shrouds. It would struggle to cover my entire form, but a single part, in that respect it is more than adequate,”_ explained d’Artagnan. With a flourish, he raised his right wing. _“My right eye.”_ He turned to look at Ignace and added quickly, _“Not the one in my head. The one I bear upon my chest.”_

The detective frowned. “Wouldn’t that just blind you?” he reasoned, “Don’t you use that thing to see into the future?”

The xatu flapped its wings in annoyance and said exasperatedly, _“The world of mysticism is not bound by the laws that govern the mundane. Blinding oneself to see, that is but the surface of paradoxes that I have contended with. Have you learned nothing of the cryptic messages woven into our fates?”_ His wings settled next to his body. _“A shroud, yes, but if this is a shroud then it is not one designed to blind me to the workings of the tapestry, but rather one to act as a disguise. Not an invader upon the house of this strange entity, but a welcome guest, clad in the fineries expected of those blessed with an invitation.”_

“Quite the leap of logic, d’Artagnan,” mused Ricard, a slight smirk on his face, “You must be rather excited. You’re usually quite fond of Ignace’s cold reason.”

The entire body of the xatu shuddered in indignation and ranted, _“Cold reason helps us only so long as the relentless tide of the unknowable is kept at bay! Cryptic musings, flashes of insight and glints of possibility fall into the world of the mundane, where the skills of the Mortician are tried, but applicable. Now, however, with this cloth, with the wild speculation and legends that surround it, we move from those shores to the surf of the occult! Now, Mortician, shroud my eye that we may see if precious reason or bold intuition prevails!”_

Ignace looked at Ricard who looked back and after a beat shrugged his shoulders in a way that told him, “Might as well.” With a sigh, Ignace knelt before the xatu and draped the cloth across his body, letting it hang across the right eye on his chest.

There was a brilliant flash of purple light and the room exploded.


	3. Chapter 3

Ignace pulled himself to his feet and shook his head. He blinked repeatedly in an effort to clear his vision and saw Ricard and d'Artagnan laying on the - ground? He looked down to his feet and felt himself almost fall over. Below him, around him, stretching out in seemingly every direction was darkness. "What the fuck is going on here?" he muttered. He took a step forward and, upon feeling solid "earth" beneath him, relaxed. Whatever it was that was below him, it was solid. But how could he see d'Artagnan and Ricard? There wasn't a light for seemingly miles. He looked about and noticed a figure lying upon the ground in the distance. _Charles_.

He raced over to his bisharp and shook him. "Charles, wake up. Whole world's gone fucking dark." He shook his pokemon more forcefully and added, "Get up, we're nowhere. Somewhere. I don't know."

The bisharp groaned and his eyes blinked open. Ignace came into focus before him. With a groan, Charles got to his feet and shook his head forcefully, trying to clear it. He swayed on the spot and finally rubbed his eyes. Blink. Blink. There wasn't an up, a down, near or far here. Ignace saw terror cross his bisharp's face for the first time as the pokemon looked to his master in alarm.

"It's fine. At least I think it is. The ground - er, this black shit, whatever this is, the infinite fucking abyss if you want to call it that, is okay to walk on and stand on." He strode back over to Ricard and d'Artagnan and roused them. "At least I think it is. Maybe our resident psychic can help shed some light on this situation," he added. "Get up you two! And try not to fall back on your asses when you look at the ground. It's not there. I think."

d'Artagnan rose to his feet first and began to flap his wings to stay aloft. _"It would seem placing that cloth over my right eye was the, ah, "right" idea."_ Here, the voice seemed to echo from even further away, though now it surrounded Ignace, as opposed to simply booming out from behind the xatu as he was accustomed. _"So."_ A pause.

Ignace signed to Ricard, asking him if he was alright. At his friend's nod, he looked to d'Artagnan and said, "So what? Spit it out d'Artagnan."

The xatu grounded himself and resumed his usual erect stance. _"So, here we find ourselves in the realm of spirits. My visions did not quite paint a picture this hopelessly black."_ Slowly, the bird rotated about with an amusing waddle and eventually came to face the detective again. "We must look immediately for some kind of landmark. We - wait! Listen!"

Ignace raised an eyebrow. "I don't hear a -" he began.

 _"Whispers on the wind! The spirits have found us, Mortician. We must not dawdle,"_ interrupted d'Artagnan. He flapped his wings and took off in what appeared to be a completely random direction.

Yet somehow, he stood out, his form steadfastly refusing to be swallowed by the pervasive blackness. Ignace looked back to Charles and Ricard and beckoned them to follow - and they too stood out in sharp relief against the abyss that stretched out behind them. He too, then, stood out to them - or so he figured. Nothing here made sense. "Why can I see everyone without any light, d'Artagnan?" he called out, jogging up to the bird. "And what do you mean this is the realm of spirits?""

_"Did you not hear them? Ghosts are watching, Mortician. We do not belong here, and as such, we would do well to accomplish what we were sent here to do."_

Ignace turned to look at Charles and then Ricard with a confused look on his face before replying, "And that is?" Personally, Ignace would have liked to know more than just that, but the urgency in d'Artagnan's voice made it very clear that now was not the time to ask questions.

The xatu came to an abrupt halt and touched down. _"I, d'Artagnan the xatu do not know, but the Conduit does."_ His eyes flashed and a pulsing wave of energy crawled along the ground, out into the dark, eventually shifting and climbing vertically into the air and then disappearing behind-

"A wall." Stone phased into existence, intricately carved and in the form of an immense wall that seemed to extend infinitely out. Two braziers formed from the abyss, rising up before coming alight with a peculiar blue flame. The light that shone from them illuminated a large iron gate wrought in a strange shape. Ignace let out a low whistle. "The spirit world has a thing for architecture, doesn't it d'Artagnan?" His comment was ignored, and d'Artagnan instead continued to study the gate.

He scowled at the xatu's apparent deafness and studied the gate himself. "That - that looks awfully familiar," Ignace added, as he peered through the gaps in the gate and saw a building that resembled Prism Tower. Though not nearly as tall, and considerably squatter, the resemblance was close enough to concern him. "d'Artagnan?"

After a long pause during which Ignace exchanged some sideways glances with Charles (Ricard had elected to busy himself with wandering off towards the wall and inspecting the carvings) d'Artagnan spoke. _"A King's sigil."_

Ignace noticed a shiver run down along his bisharp's body. "Charles? You alright?" He knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. "Charles?"

The xatu cut across Ignace. _"He's heard of the legends. The glyph on this gate, the whispers on the wind, and this foreboding presence all confirm them."_ He looked directly at the detective and repeated: _"A King's sigil adorns this gate."_

Ignace turned to Ricard in confusion. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" he signed.

The mute rubbed his chin and stared at the gate for a minute before finally responding. "Vaguely. More research is in order, I think. But I can hazard a guess." Ignace looked on expectantly. "Kings of the old Kalosian states had sigils associated with them. For official documents and what have you. They also had a habit of adorning their architecture with the sigil to signify their ownership of it. You see the sigils here and there in some of the older parts of Lumiose. A crest, a coat of arms, a sigil - all the same, just a symbol declaring to all who see it that whatever it is that's been stamped with it belongs to a man. A powerful one. I imagine that sigil upon the gate is one of a king."

 _"Correct. But it is unusual. Sigils often follow patterns - they boast of wealth, estate and lineage."_ The xatu clicked its beak. _"Here, we see no such signs. Telling."_

It was all over his head. Ignace rubbed his temples in aggravation. "So, what? The sigil is basically useless or?" He groaned. "None of this shit makes sense to me. Do spirits have kings?"

To his surprise, he felt something tug at his sleeve. Ignace looked down at Charles, who looked back at him and nodded. Ignace frowned. The bisharp looked very, very worried. His eyes were darting about and his posture had become meek and defensive.

d'Artagnan flapped over to the three. _"Charles is rightly terrified. This is neither his domain nor is his type welcome here. Advantaged though he is in the world of the living, here we are at the mercy of the damned and long forgotten."_ The xatu, for the first time since Ignace had met him, let out a shrill squawk. Far from one born of fear, it was goading. Inflammatory. _Mean. "And though I am not a welcome guest, we have no time to show the spirits that this intrusion was not the last. The power in this cloth wanes, Mortician, and at just the right time. Our time spent trespassing here has been as wise as knocking down a combee hive."_

Ignace felt his head swimming. He looked between Charles and d'Artagnan and then at the cloth upon the xatu's chest. It had become almost completely transparent, and the glow it had been emitting had almost completely faded. He looked up at Ricard who stared back. The mute's eyes flickered to the cloth too and a flicker of comprehension rippled across his face. He signed, "Try to land on your feet."

The cloth dissolved into the blackness and the ground beneath them seemed to give way. Ignace tried to keep his eyes open, but as the abyss disappeared, it was consumed by a blinding, pure white, and so too was his vision.

* * *

Ricard's advice helped. Ignace felt his feet slam into the ground with significant force, and his knees buckled somewhat. "Fuck." His ankles throbbed as he stood and his eyes burned. "What's with the lightshow we've got going on here? Blinding light, pitch black, blinding light, pitch black. Last thing Ricard needs is to go blind too."

The room came into focus as his vision cleared, revealing the forms of his friends. Despite his warning to Ignace, Ricard laid flat on his back, and Charles had sunk to a knee. d'Artagnan had elected to cheat, and was floating a foot above the ground, looking about as pleased with himself as his beaked visage allowed. _"Most excellent."_ His tone was smug too. _"Away from the prying eyes of the spirits, and no doubt, the one responsible for obscuring the tapestry. Ricard, we must return to our research."_

Ricard got to his feet and smoothed out his shirt. "Yes, but it would helpful if you could recreate the sigil so I know what I'm looking for. And Ignace too - I'm sure he is just as vested in figuring out what this little foray means as we are." He looked to Ignace and added in sign, "Am I wrong?"

The detective looked at Ricard for a moment and the signed, "I want to know what the fuck just happened I think. What was that? What's this sigil do? What the hell are we looking for and how does any of this help us solve the murders?"

d'Artagnan flapped his wings in annoyance. _"Surely you recognize that whoever is responsible for these murders has also created a veritable fortress in the realm of the departed, and is the same individual responsible for the sigil that adorns it?"_ he prodded.

"Well, yeah, but why? And why does the fortress look like Prism Tower with most of the upper portion chopped off? Is the spirit world just a mirror of our own?" Ignace strode to a chair and sat down, his head in his hands. "And what does any of this have to do with my investigation? If we're dealing with a spirit, a _king's_ spirit, I don't really think we'll find him just waltzing about. They have servants and shit to do that."

Ricard snapped his fingers. "That is precisely what has been occurring. It would explain the brutality of the murders. So far the victims have all but been reduced to ground meat, yes? The last murder left us with a body that'd been savaged but not reduced to pulp, which is unusual."

Ignace looked up at the accountant. "Yeah, and it was probably a sneasel or weavile that did it, which would explain why the body was fucked up but not paste." He tapped his chin. "That much suggests that there could be multiple accomplices or servants or whatever, or that whoever is carrying this shit out has realized that two dead bodies reduced to pâté in two weeks is just a little bit suspicious, especially if a third ends up the exact same way. Not like it matters - three murders in three weeks is unusual for Lumiose, the police are probably on the highest alert they've been since that business with that one girl in that weird suit. Speaking of…"

"Are you seriously suggesting we tap her for help with occult murders?" signed Ricard, his face set in a frown.

With a sigh, Ignace slumped in his chair. "No, just thinking out loud. I don't know what's really going on here. The occult isn't really my thing, you're all pretty blasé about it. Except for Charles." He turned to look at the shaking bisharp and frowned. "He's probably the most torn up about what's going on."

Charles regarded Ignace for a moment before turning to the xatu, a pleading look in his eyes. d'Artagnan's eyes flashed and after a moment, he said, _"He has his concerns about that sigil. About the King and about you, Mortician."_

"Well, you mind doing some translation here? I'd like to know what's got one of the staunchest hardasses I've ever had the pleasure of training shaking like he's a pawniard again," responded Ignace. He watched his bisharp, brows knit in concern.

The Conduit squawked and looked to the bisharp. At the sight of a single nod, the bisharp launched into an unintelligible conversation with d'Artagnan. It was strange to Ignace, hearing his partner's gruff, harsh tone replaced with a shaky, whispered staccato. After a minute of vocalization, d'Artagnan turned his head towards Ignace along with Charles.

 _"It seems I was not the only one to hear whispers on the wind, Mortician. The Blade heard them as well. However, while I only perceived foreign whispers, he instead heard commands. Firm, terrifying commands, though rather removed and muffled. He believes they were emanating from that building you believe is Prism Tower."_ The psychic-type paused and stared at Ignace. His voice dropped. _"But still, he could understand them. The King sought to turn the Blade against you. Against all of us."_

Ignace's eyes widened. "How? What? Why didn't he? Charles?" he looked at his pokemon, mouth agape. "I- why didn't you?"

Charles looked offended. He crossed his arms and mumbled something in his usual harsh tone.

The unusual, throbbing song of laughter emanated from behind d'Artagnan. _"Because he is your friend, Mortician. Partner to you in this ordeal. Your Blade. Do not be so tactless."_

He slumped back in his chair and chuckled. "Sorry." He looked at Charles. "Really, sorry. Stupid comment of me to make. I don't doubt your loyalty Charles, I just, uh-" He paused. "I just don't know what to expect out of any of this at this point." He stood and strode over to bisharp and then knelt down. He offered his hand. "You've proved yourself committed to sorting shit out wherever and whenever it hits the fan over and over. Blame me being out of my element for thinking whatever some fucking dickhead in a castle tells you to do is going to sway you. You're better than that. I should be too."

Charles considered Ignace for a moment then took his hand shook it. A faint smirk twitched on the edge of his mouth and he nodded.

"Alright, so now that we've hugged this shit out, we've got some real business to talk. You two are going to do a bunch of research on this shit, I know that much, but if Charles can listen to this so-called king in the spirit world, are we in any danger of him, you know, ever actually listening because of some stupid ghost or occult bullshit beyond his and our control?"

 _"It is impossible to know at the moment,"_ replied d'Artagnan. _"Perhaps if this King can manifest his will over others, then yes. Otherwise, they could simply be messages meant to paralyze, confuse and frighten intruders."_

Ricard added on when the xatu finished. "It could be a simple deterrent against spirits there in the realm. Not a bad way to gain recruits. Or perhaps it is a means to prey on whatever hapless pokemon finds its way into the spirit realm. Conjecture, either way. We need to research this. Though I'm not sure how effective my library will be. The occult is a minor fascination of mine, and I have dedicated more to its history than its practice."

Ignace thought back to the sigil. "If this shit involves a king or something, and that sigil is as important and we think it is, history might be what we need. And some shit to help fight occult stuff. Ricard, I think I should pay Dendemille Town a quick visit and get Ana to-"

The mute cut him off with his own signing. His movements were harsh, and his face was set in a grimace. "Absolutely not. Leave the poor woman to her enterprise. "

Ignace scowled. "It's a single fucking train ride away! She's the best bet we've got for making us-"

Ricard stomped his foot to stop his friend's gesticulating. His movements were even more exaggerated now, and his whole body moved as he signed. "No. Unless we absolutely require it, we shall leave her well enough alone. The poor woman is in no state of mind to do anything you are suggesting. The nerve of you, Ignace, how could-"

Now it was the detective's turn to cut him off. "Fine, fine, I get it, I get it. I'll leave Ana out of this," he signed, defeated. He scratched his head in aggravation and then sighed. "We should visit her at some point though. Not for business, just to, you know. Check up on her." His signing was far less animated and a frown adorned his face. He gave Ricard a meaningful look.

Ricard's face fell and his shoulders sagged. His response was now subdued. "She was doing well enough when we saw her last. I doubt she's gotten worse." He sighed, and then reluctant limbs added, "Or better, sad as it makes me to admit it."

"Exactly."

"Another time. For now, we must begin our research."

The xatu flew between the two and turned to face Ignace. _"And you must do some hunting, Mortician. Work befitting a man who calls himself detective."_

"What do you need me to hunt for? More of those scraps?" he asked.

 _"Yes, actually. More of those would not go amiss. We may very well need them for another foray or three. More importantly, however, is the sigil."_ The xatu clicked its beak. _"Incredibly important. Mark of the King. Wherever one is, information lies."_

"You want me to comb the city for a sigil I can barely remember?" said Ignace, incredulous. "You mind giving me a picture of it or something? And what makes you so sure that random shit out there even has the sigil on it? Wouldn't that be a little obvious?"

"You misunderstand the mindset of a King. The sigil declares to all who witness it what is rightfully his. It is a bold claim, and to challenge it is to invite disaster upon one's own head and house." Ricard continued to sign, "This is what the sigils did in the old Kalosian kingdoms. Now, whoever this king is will be doing the same, likely content that none would recognize what the symbol even means. He can begin his takeover symbolically and completely unopposed. Though after what happened to d'Artagnan's Sight and after our ordeal in the spirit realm, I doubt that this king believes he is unopposed. Or at the very least, unknown. The issue is we don't know if he considers us a threat or a nuisance. For that, we need to know more about this mysterious sovereign. Seeing what he has labeled as his, or had his subjects label, is an effective way to understand his priorities."

"You're both putting an awful lot in nothing at all." Ignace shook his head. "You sure about this?"

 _"As sure as the the flames of prophecy can make one. Use this."_ The xatu's eyes flashed and a piece of paper flew from Ricard's desk and into the air - a glowing purple sigil materialized on it and the glow gradually faded to black, leaving a sigil that looked closer to a burn mark. He turned about and waddled towards Ricard's study. _"Mind your surroundings. We may very well be targets."_

"Used to that," muttered Ignace. He looked to his pokemon. "Charles? You ready to go search out some sigils?" The bisharp nodded. "You wanna make a bet on us finding a sigil on top of a fucking building?" Charles grinned and extended his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

From apartment door to quiet street, to furtive glances and careful stroll towards the alley near Cafe Ultimo, Ignace was worried. He was out of his depth, but with the information d'Artagnan had provided him, he felt at least somewhat better about plunging into the unknown - and it helped make his trek to that very alley seem logical. The reaper's cloth was found there, and it led them directly into the spirit world. It delivered them into the hands of insight itself. Indistinct, cryptic, grasping insight, but insight nonetheless.

Ignace thought all of this as he ran a finger across a symbol on a wall in the alley. "Fuckin' gut was right again," he began, "there's a sigil here. It's also, uh, red?" It was located very close to the ground on the wall of the alley, so much so that he was squatting before it. Its inconspicuous placement probably only helped whoever was behind this, though Ignace doubted most people would honestly be interested in a red sigil on a wall. He frowned at the sigil as his thoughts drifted back to the dusknoir they fought in the alley. The blood patch that boiled and turned black, the reanimating shuppets and duskulls, the scent of death on the wind… He shook himself out of the recollection and turned away from the sigil. "I don't know what's so important about this alley. The poor bastard that died here probably had his heart taken out, but this place is otherwise just-" Charles interrupted him, tugging on the sleeve of his coat and pointing at a dumpster outside the small branch of the alley, sitting in the main alley itself, and grunting.

"What, is there something in the dumpster?" asked Ignace. Charles shook his head and strode over to the side of the dumpster and pointed at the ground - a manhole cover was partially visible. He began to push the dumpster - with some effort, it slid aside, revealing the rest of the cover. "It's just a manhole Charles, what's the issue here?" He knelt down beside the bisharp and peered at the cover: the sigil. "Well fuck me running, how'd you notice that Charles?" The pokemon responded by crossing his arms and giving his master a self-satisfied smile. "Superior perception skills, huh? Alright, don't get too full of yourself you little bastard." Ignace grinned and pulled the manhole cover off and looked into the sewer. Plenty of room it seemed. He jumped down.

The sounds of running water echoed around Ignace, along with the loud splash of Charles landing beside him. The sewer system beneath Lumiose smelled awful but was surprisingly spacious - though he did notice smaller tunnels shooting off of what he imagined was the main tunnel they were standing in. "Right," he said aloud, voice echoing, "Now we just have to figure out why this manhole cover has the sigil on it." He pulled a flashlight from his jacket and shone it at the slick walls of the sewer tunnel - nothing seemed to be particularly out of the ordinary here. "You feeling any weird vibes Charles?"

The bisharp shook his head.

"Shit. I was hoping you'd be hearing voices again or something. No faint whispers, nothing?" asked Ignace. His pokemon shook his head again. "Well fuck, would have been nice to go on." He oriented himself in his head. "The manhole cover's right behind us. If we head straight ahead then turn to the right we should get right underneath where that patch of blood was, right?" He rounded the corner and was met with a tunnel - and grating standing in his way. "Go fucking figure." He pointed the flashlight past the obstruction and noticed a few wet bricks flicker and gleam a ways down. With any luck, it was all purely through the main tunnel. "There's another way into that place. Now we just have to figure out how to get there. You think Ricard has a map of the sewer system?"

The bisharp shrugged. It was customary for questions to rattle off of Ignace and onto him - and while Charles grasped their general meaning, his responses were hardly ever of great use. Not that the detective blamed him or anything, but asking the questions aloud certainly helped him work through things more easily.

Ignace pulled himself out of the sewer halfway and looked about for any prying eyes. Relieved, he hauled himself up and sat, legs dangling into the open hole. He pulled his Xtransceiver from his pocket and rang up Ricard. His friend's face appeared in the display looking confused. "Hey, I'm back at the alley we found the latest victim at and Charles found a manhole cover with that sigil on it. We're right around the corner from _another_ sigil on the wall that's colored red and we need to get to the sewer tunnel that runs underneath it but we've hit a bit of a snag - there's a grate in the way and I don't really feel like wandering around in the dark for the rest of the fucking day. You got a map of the sewer system for this city?" He signed - with great difficulty, all of this, and judging by the confusion that flickered across Ricard's face here and there, he had only somewhat succeeded.

"Set your Xtransceiver down on something and do it again, I only caught about half of it. You need a map for what?" signed Ricard.

Ignace groaned and pulled himself out of the hole proper to set the device atop the dumpster. He signed the entire request out once again, and to his relief, Ricard nodded his head. "Yes, I can send you that immediately. Set your map to receive." Ignace complied and pulled a map from his pocket. The screen came to life and showed the entire Unova region.

"Forever and a day since I've used this thing, eh?" he muttered. He tapped a few buttons and a progress bar appeared - when it had filled the complex system of tunnels, branches and manholes that criss-crossed under Lumiose appeared. He scrolled through it, looking for his location - he was fortunate that the tunnels were (mostly) in accordance with the streets that ran above them. He turned to his transceiver and thanked Ricard in sign, "Thanks, this is going to save me a shitload of time." He waved him goodbye and pocketed the device before dropping back down into the sewer.

"Let's get going Charles." The bisharp got up from leaning against the wall and nodded. "Getting to the other side of that grate won't be hard, just need to head away from the sigil and make a few lefts and rights. Hope you're not wearing anything you like, we'll have to crawl through a branch to get to where we're going." Ignace stopped and looked back at the light pouring in from the manhole. The sound of Charles walking grew fainter, and the echoed sounds of trickling water grew louder in his ears along the sounds of his heartbeat. "Just one branch." He turned back to look down the main tunnel and saw the figure of his bisharp now a considerable distance away. "Just one branch."

Ignace caught up with Charles and waved off the inquisitive grunt the pokemon greeted him with. His flashlight cast bizarre shadows as it passed over tunnels and grates and reflected off the slick walls of the sewer that he was sure would scare most people. Like Charles. For a dark-type pokemon, the bisharp had always seemed a bit jumpy about the dark, even as a pawniard. Maybe it was normal for the line - he didn't know, as he'd never been interested enough in it to research it. Just a quirk, he figured. And a pretty funny one at that. He had to give Charles credit though: he'd only jumped twice. Maybe he was putting on an act of false bravado.

"Here we are," he said, looking down at a branch, "Let's get going." He got down on all fours and gazed in trepidation at the branching tunnel. Unease gripped him, and clenched together like a tightly knit ball in his stomach. His heart was pounding in his head again, and it was much louder than before. The main tunnels were spacious - enough that he could push it all from his mind. But this tunnel was intended to be just large enough for your average maintenance worker to fit through; judging by the size, maintenance workers hardly made enough to eat. He took several deep breaths and then crawled into the tunnel.

The ball in the pit of his stomach grew in size and weight. He felt his lungs constricting and begged himself not to hyperventilate. He felt his elbow brush against the wall of the tunnel and immediately they began to close in on him. With eyes clamped shut he squirmed through the tunnel as fast as he could and felt himself fall face first into awful smelling water. He got up, sputtering, swearing and wiping the foul liquid from his face. "For FUCK'S sake, I'm not fucking doing that when I have to go back through. Just close your eyes, what's the worse that can happen? Fucking end yourself D-, FUCK! Ignace. Fucking claustrofuckingphobia and the shitting walls closing in and my cunting lungs collapsing, FUCK!" He fell against the wall of the sewer, chest heaving and shook more sewage from his head. He pulled the wig he was wearing (red haired this time) and tossed it into the water and heaved a sigh.

He heard the various blades on Charles clink against the ground. "Alright, alright," Ignace began, taking in a deep breath, "Let's go." They set off once again and found themselves a few minutes later on the other side of the grate. He looked around, his flashlight playing against the walls and revealing nothing but still more slick brickwork.

"Was there a collapse or something?" he asked in surprise. The walls had been neat brickwork until now, but there on the wall was a patch of dirt with roughly placed bricks. It looked somewhat natural, all things considered, like the bricks had been damaged and fixed on the cheap. Perhaps someone had blown a hole in the wall? Pressed his hands against the brickwork (Charles followed suit) and pushed. Nothing. "Defensive stance Charles." The bisharp hopped back and raised his arms. Ignace banged a fist against the brickwork. The sound echoed both within the wall and without. "Figures, it's hollow." He backed away from the wall and looked it over again - and simultaneously strained his ears to listen for footsteps. The wall didn't budge, nor did he hear any footsteps approaching.

"You don't think...no. No way. It can't be something _that_ cliche," mumbled Ignace to Charles. The bisharp cocked his head and gave a noncommittal grunt. Ignace ran his hands against the brickwork, pressing against each one in turn, and after a few minutes, one of them gave and pressed into the wall. The bricks began to come undone, sliding aside, spinning, shifting and rearranging until a rectangular hole stood before him and a tightly packed dirt path lay beyond. A peculiar purplish-blue gleam glimmered far down the newly revealed tunnel.

Uncomfortable, but not petrified. The pounding in his ears was more muted, and he was short of breath but not completely spent. He scanned the walls, the ground, the ceiling for traps, and signs of instability as he walked. And (partially) to ensure they weren't closing in on him. The ball in his stomach was moderately sized, but otherwise manageable. Once or twice dirt fell from the ceiling and landed on his head and sent Ignace into a flurry of frenzied swears as he shuffled frantically back out of the tunnel, but he composed himself after a few feet each time.

As the glow grew in intensity, Ignace noticed that the tunnel led to what looked like a small cavern. As he drew closer to the tunnel's end, Ignace noticed that the smell of sewage had faded almost completely away, only to be replaced with the scent of death. The ball in his stomach began to loosen, his breathing slowed and the pounding in his ears began to fade - only to be replaced by the mounting dread of who or what he was about to face. He reached into his jacket, for the dagger he kept sheathed in the small of his back and brought it up before him in a reverse grip. The irrational fear that had gripped him fell away completely now to the palpable sense of fear that hung in the air. He stepped into the cavern and glanced down at the ground.

"The sigil," he said in a whisper. Etched into the ground, it glowed the same eerie purple and blue hues that the bright light atop a pedestal in the center of the room did. He took a step forward, his foot crossing one of the lines of the sigil and waited. He took another step, now completely within the boundaries of the sigil.

There was a flash of light, and the bright purple and blue lights coming from the center pedestal faded to a duller blue glow. Sitting - no, _floating_ atop the pedestal was a heart. A distressingly fresh human heart.

"They _did_ take the heart. And used it for...this?" Ignace looked about the room and felt his head swimming. "This is bad Charles," he said aloud, "We're in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. What the fuck is even going on here?" He looked around. "Charles?" He turned his flashlight towards the entrance to the cavern and found it wasn't working. Instead, he saw the shadowed figure of his bisharp standing at the edge of the room, refusing to go any further. Ignace walked over to his pokemon and asked, "What's the matter?"

Charles pointed a shaking finger at the heart atop the pedestal and then shook his head vigorously; it was accompanied by an odd cry that fell halfway between a grunt and a yelp.

Ignace glanced at the pedestal over his shoulder then looked back at Charles. "That thing's evil right?" His pokemon nodded. Ignace raised his dagger. "I'll handle this one then." He turned around and made his way to the pedestal, then called over his shoulder, "But if there's more than one of these things, you're doing the next one." Charles's body began to shiver harder as he nodded.

Ignace poked the heart with his knife - it didn't respond. "Well, it's not beating, so that's a good thing...right?" He rubbed his chin and pressed the knife into the flesh. The dull purple glow that emanated from the heart intensified and blinded him for an instant. A wind picked up in the cavern and carried unintelligible whispers into his ears. A moment later, the room felt as if it had been voided of heat and the whispers, though still unintelligible, were beginning to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He caught shadows dancing in the corner of his eyes and heard a muffled howl behind him - but as he wheeled around he heard it to his side. It was floating about the room, springing to life here and there, and the room grew steadily colder.

Shivering slightly and his breath now visible, Ignace shouted, "That fucking it? This is your defense "your highness"? Shitty fucking tricks?" The walls shifted and dirt shook itself loose from them. Rocks cracked and crumbled and the ground itself quaked. With the sound of shifting gravel, falling dirt and stone grinding on stone, the walls started to close in around Ignace.

"FUCK YOU TOO THEN!" He shouted in equal parts rage and fear. He plunged his knife into the heart, which to his surprise began to beat rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that he feared it might explode. All the while the howling was growing louder, the grinding and crumbling rock was closing in around him, the whispers were sounding more accusatory and murderous with each second, and somewhere in the din her could hear Charles desperately crying out to him.

It stopped. The heart fell still, impaled, and bleeding on his dagger, and the entire room became quiet at once. Ignace brought the heart up closer to his eyes to inspect it and then flipped the knife over in his hands. The heart slid slowly off the knife and hit the ground with a soft, wet slap. He crushed it under a boot and kicked the bits of flesh left in the treads off. A hand gripped his forearm, and with it came a concerned, harsh growl.

"I'm fine," replied Ignace, thoroughly relieved the walls had stopped moving, "Really, I am. Thanks for the concern though Charles." He looked down at his bisharp and gave him a weak smile. "Let's just fucking get out of here."

* * *

Ignace heaved himself out of the sewer and collapsed against the wall of the alley. The crawl back through the tiny branching tunnel had been no better than the first - though at the very least he didn't fall into the sewage again. Charles also looked thoroughly relieved as he clambered out of the sewer and sat down beside his master. "If we have to go back down into the sewers to find more of those sigils or hearts or whatever the fuck…" Ignace's voice trailed off and he let his head fall against the wall. "Why did d'Artagnan have to get all weird and prophetic on us? Things were going just fine." He turned to Charles, who nodded in agreement and then got to his feet. "Yeah, fuck this alley, I agree," said Ignace, standing himself, "Let's put this cover and dumpster back and go check the sigil on the wall."

He couldn't say he expected it, but the now colorless sigil made sense to him. "Alright, so we definitely did do something right, yeah? Cut off power or something, fuck if I know. What do you do with human hearts? Coated in purple energy? What the fuck d'Artagnan." he said aloud. He looked up at the sky - it was still a clear, light blue. "We should have enough to time to go check out another old murder scene and get back into the fucking sewers I guess." He pulled up his map and scrolled through it, looking for the location. "Found it. Perk up Charles. Remember, it's not in a great part of town."

The sounds of Charles's unhappy grunt was the only response Ignace received.

* * *

"Not a single manhole cover, Charles?" called out Ignace from the other end of the alley. A grunt of denial met his ears. He strode back to his pokemon, pensive. This alley was barren - devoid of anything save a single dumpster that hid no portal underground. He walked out of the alley and looked at the building that stood next to it - boards covered the windows and yellow tape adorned the doors. "Of fucking course, why didn't I notice this first? But now we need a way in." He looked up and down the street: few pedestrians and cars were passing by, but trying to force himself into the building would still be very conspicuous. Ignace walked back into the alley and pressed against the boards on the windows, looking about constantly for any onlookers. None budged, nor did any that faced the other alley on the other side of the building.

With a frown, he beckoned Charles to follow him and made his way down the street towards a cafe. "We'll have to come back at night. Probably with a crowbar or something." He watched bikes, gogoat's bearing passengers and taxis pass him by. He brought Charles's pokeball up to his eyes and rolled it over in his hand. "Might bring arcanine along too." He stopped outside the cafe and looked inside; it was empty save the barista and a single patron sitting off in a corner, reading a newspaper. "Or a gun," he added in undertone. He strode inside and locked eyes with the barista, "Espresso. Charles?" He looked at his bisharp.

A nod.

"Two."

The barista nodded and turned around to begin preparing the drink. "Sit wherever you like," he called out over his shoulder. Ignace chose the corner opposite the man reading the newspaper and pulled out his Xtransceiver to dial Ricard. His friend's face appeared on the display.

"Ignace. How'd it go in the sewers? You alright?" signed Ricard.

Ignace nodded. "Smell like shit, but we killed a heart or something. Floating on a pedestal, surrounded by a sigil on the ground in this chamber that was dug out of the earth."

Ricard's eyes widened and he disappeared from the display. As he came back into frame he signed, "Explain everything. Don't leave out even the meanest detail." The shuffling of papers filtered through Ignace's Xtransceiver and with the click of a pen, Ricard readied himself to take notes. "Begin."

The sigil on the ground, the purple light, the whispering winds, shifting walls, and scent of death. Ignace recalled the entire ordeal in as much detail as he could manage with fingers, hands and arms. Ricard stopped him only twice for clarification, but otherwise took notes throughout the entire recollection.

When he was finished, Ricard continued to write for several minutes and then he signed to Ignace, "Where are you?"

"Uh, the west side, way out of the main road." He paused and glanced up at the barista who's eyes lingered on Ignace for a second before he realized Igance was staring back at him, a disgusted look on his face.

"Sir, you smell _hideous_ ," said the barista, laden with a tray that bore two tiny cups.

"Astonishing observation there Looker," grumbled Ignace, tearing his eyes away from the Xtransceiver and glared up at the barista, "how'd you get so observant?"

The barista set his and Charles's espressos down set off for the bar and walked off in a hurry. "Jerkoff. Anyway, we're near the _quartier rouge_."

"I'd forgotten the murder happened that close to that district." He turned away from Ignace and signed at someone off-screen. "That hardly seems wise d'Artagnan."

A voice drifted through the Xtransceiver's speakers with abundant static. _"It is imperative we accompany him. Both to assist and to understand. We must move, Merchant. Is the Mortician not in agreement?"_

With a silent sigh, Ricard turned to face Ignace and signed, "d'Artagnan insists we come and help you. Your thoughts?"

Ignace took a sip from his espresso and thought the question over. "Charles, you think we need backup?" he asked across the table.

Charles downed his espresso, pulled a face and then shrugged his shoulders with an unenthusiastic grunt.

"Looks like Charles couldn't care less," chuckled Ignace. "Sure. I'll be back soon and we can leave together." At the look of confusion on Ricard's face he added, "Fell in sewer water. Don't ask." He paused and took another sip of his espresso to give himself time to think. "We won't be doing anything until night anyway either, so this works out great." Ricard nodded and switched off the Xtransceiver.

Really, he was lucky his knife even worked, Ignace thought. Hoping bullets would too seemed a bit of a stretch. Then again, given all that had happened, it was only just a bit of one.


	5. Chapter 5

Far above Vassal sat his king. Completely obscured by the darkness that filled the cavernous chamber, the torchlight that flickered meekly against the pitch black did not reach the center of the room to illuminate the throne. A massive, imposing stone chair, hewn from the ancient rock that sat, forgotten in the bowels of Lumiose, bore his king, who stared down at the figure. A deep, rumbling tone echoed out into the chamber, and it dripped with disappointment. "The torch in the northeast has flickered and died, Vassal. What say you of this?"

The pained expression upon Vassal's face mixed with a horrible sense of guilt. He mumbled to the ground, "An extraordinary error on my part, _mon roi_ , I will see to it that it is immediately corrected." A pause hung in the air, broken only by his own breathing and the sound of Karan, a weavile, sharpening her claws and purring contentedly.

"You would do well not to disappoint your king again, Vassal. My forgiveness is given freely but once." Another pause. The voice boomed in his ears and made the man quake. "Find another trespasser, redraw the circles and ensure that my path to ascendence is not impeded again."

Vassal backed away on all fours from the throne, muttering all the while, "At once _mon roi_ , it will be done. Your Vassal is endlessly grateful for your forgiveness. I will not fail you." Now a respectable distance from the throne he rose and turned to leave when a horrific thought struck him. What if someone knew the purpose of the hearts? Of the hidden chambers and King's Brands? He froze. There could be no way. It was paranoia swallowing him whole. The history was old, muddied and almost inaccessible. No man alive could possibly know why that cavern existed. Why any of the caverns existed. Yet, they could very well simply find it queer. Unnatural. What if the old human fear of the unknown was ruining his king's rightful ascendance? Should he tell his king?

He turned slowly and gazed at the throne, still wreathed in shadow, though three circles would glow a dull purple at times, floating in the dark. No. There would be no need to worry his king. Karan could deal with finding another trespasser to punish on his king's land. He would keep watch upon the other two torches, and have Karan light the final two after she rekindled this one.

"Karan. With me." he said aloud, his voice carrying in the air like the crack of a whip. The weavile followed him out of the room and down a long tunnel towards a false wall in the sewer system beneath the city. Vassal's voice became a deadly whisper as he explained, "Foolish men walk upon the sacred land of your king. Eliminate them and take their souls to the cavern below. I will arrive later to inspect your work. If the room has been desecrated beyond use, return to the torch in the south. Understood?"

A wide mouth of razor-sharp teeth unzipped in the ether, and the red irises of Karan's eyes gleamed. She nodded once and sped off, the claws of her feet leaving an echoing staccato in their wake.

Vassal's thoughts drifted to his apartment. He would need his poignard for this.

* * *

As the echoes of Vassal's footsteps died in the chamber, the inky black that pooled in the center of the room fell quiet. No voice came from the stone throne for a moment and all that could be heard were the distant echoes of dripping water. Then, all at once, the silence exploded, and gave way to the same booming, otherworldly voice that had commanded Vassal to investigate. The sounds swirled out of the darkness, crashing up into the slick stone ceiling and walls and falling down onto the wet and cracked floor. It crept across the ground and dissolved like the surf across the stone floor. "Peasant, step out of the shadows. Your king demands a service of you."

A gengar materialized from a collapsed stone pillar with a grimace. "Peasant? My name is -"

"Enough. Your title is Peasant. The torch in the east must now be lit. The intruders that happened upon the spirit plane have begun their attempts at unseating me. Gone is the time for caution. We move with haste to my ascension."

The gengar leered at the darkened throne. "And my end of deal will be fulfilled when?" he asked bitterly.

"When the torches are lit and I am restored, so too shall you be." A tag flew from the shadows and landed at the pokemon's feet. "Affix this to your body as usual. It would be a pitiable shame to see such a useful Peasant reduced to ash and energy, forever locked away in a heart of ascension."

"Terrence." spat the gengar, "My name is Terrence. Say it and I will do as you ask."

"Now, Peasant. Or you will be doomed to wander this plane as you are now, forever." The imperious tone was now tipped with an evil sneer.

Terrence scowled and sank into the ground. "Fine." He rematerialized deep into the passage to the east and began to stomp his way towards the manhole that would let him out near the King's Brand. He phased through the walls that stood in his way, slipped through grating and occasionally sunk partially into the ground as he made his way forward. He was preoccupied. Perhaps this deal he'd taken was too good to be true. The so-called "King" was out for his own good. This "ascension", or so he called. And he'd been cryptic about what exactly it would do, only that following it, the King would have access to a tremendous power and could put Terrence right at last. Or so the King had promised. He growled. He knew his type. He wouldn't be cheated.

The gengar stopped and stared into the pitch-black sewer tunnel. Flashes of now incomprehensible scenes erupted in his mind, making him ache all over and leaving a stabbing pain in his head that was so intense he felt like it might explode. He felt himself fall backwards and inwards, sucked up into a hole that opened in his forehead. Glimpses of strange shapes he couldn't explain drifted across the ether of his thoughts. The distorted sound of a woman's laughter that twisted around itself and shattered like glass in an empty room. Odd, almost pained shouting from a man whose face had melted to become indistinct but frustratingly familiar. The strange sensation of his thoughts swirling in a great basin and out a small hole in the bottom. Him along with it. Falling, falling, down into oppressive blackness. The blinding white floor beneath him.

And afterwards, as he picked himself up from the ground spread-eagled as he always was when these episodes struck him, came the terrible, roiling realization of loss that shook his body to its core. He rubbed his head and sighed. Echoes of things long lost, perhaps, but he wouldn't know until the King had his way.

He scowled as he walked. The king would make good on his promise to restore meaning to these scenes. To make him whole again. He would make sure of it.

* * *

"Hey, come on, what are you doing?" mumbled Ignace to his arcanine. He looked down at the creature, splayed out across the floor of the apartment, stacks of books and sheafs of papers scattered about him. With a low whine, the pokemon rolled onto its belly and looked up at Ignace with a low whine and wide, innocent eyes. He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, alright arcanine, alright. You're sorry you knocked everything over and made a mess, right?" The arcanine barked and rolled onto its back. Ignace knelt down and rubbed his belly for a short while before standing up again. "Just don't make anymore of a mess, alright?" With a happy bark, he rolled back over and curled up.

He returned to the small drafting desk he had tucked away into the overstuffed living room, where it sat beside the only window that allowed more than a crack of light in. Instead, it allowed _two_. He picked up his whittling knife and the block of wood he was working on and blew the shavings off the paper atop the desk. It bore a drawing of d'Artagnan that he'd made himself. While far from professional (indeed, it was perhaps not even amateur) it was a good enough guide for whittling a stylized wood sculpture in the shape of a totem. He figured Ricard would enjoy a handmade, totemic representation of d'Artagnan for his birthday at the end of the year. He sure as hell wasn't going to be able to _buy_ anything Ricard couldn't. Ignace squinted as he deepened the grooves he'd carved to shape the eyes and then shaved the totem's body to smooth it out and make it more cylindrical. He was half dreading actually etching in the designs for the body of the totem. Still, he had months before his little project was "due".

He blew more wood shavings from the desk then checked his watch. He had to be leaving soon. He contemplated his arcanine, now napping on the floor nearby, and his drifblim, still sitting in her pokeball on his belt by the door. He had to let her out more, but what would she really _do_ once out? All her line did was float about. Damn useful for escaping places, but he'd rather not leave her to the mercy of the wind anymore than he already did. He heaved himself from his chair and set his materials down. The drifblim wouldn't be much use in a house, and his arcanine was a tad too large to bring along as well. As it was he dominated a sizable portion of the floor splayed out as he was. That left Charles, who'd he'd have brought along anyway.

Ignace walked into his bedroom and pulled his shirt off, then threw it into a corner with countless others. He opened his closet and stared into it, contemplating the stab vest he had hanging inside. He doubted otherworldly spirits would be in the possession of a gun, but there would likely be plenty of sharp objects to toss at him if the ghosts became more dangerous than just murderous whispers. He pulled the vest from his closet along with a shirt and shut the door. He looked into the mirror upon it, and his eyes scanned the myriad of old wounds that marred his chest, sides, shoulders and arms. Stab and bullet wounds peppered his sides and chest, and a jagged, irregular scar ran across the length of his torso.

He ran a finger across a part of the scar. Two whole fucking years already. He pulled the vest on and then a black button-up and smoothed it out, wondering what new "decorations" he'd have by the end of all this.

He walked out into his living room and muttered, "Don't think my back is _particularly_ fucked yet, maybe by the end whoever did this shit will cover that." He dug around in the chest of drawers by the door for his boot dagger. "Charles, let's get going." He glanced around, specifically at the same spot on the couch his partner always sat, complete with cuts, tears and punctures the bisharp had inadvertently caused over time. "Charles?"

His bisharp appeared from behind the wall dividing the living room and kitchen, clutching a bowl filled with Liechi berries and tossed one into his mouth whole.

"We still have those? I thought they'd have gone bad by now..." asked Ignace, distracted. He shook his head. "Fuck, that's unimportant. Grab one to go or something, we need to get back to that abandoned building and break in." He looked at his chest of drawers by the door and shook his head. It was dark, no need for a wig this time.

Charles tossed another berry into his mouth and took three from the bowl before setting it down on the living room coffee table, lined with papers and books and nodded.

Ignace ushered his companion out the door. A weight pressed against his back and a low whine filled the air. He turned around and gave his arcanine a pat on the head. "Too big for where we're going. Maybe if you were still a growlithe." The pokemon's eyes drooped and he whined again. "Hey, I didn't build the house buddy, it's just how it is." With another pat on the head and scratch of his chin, Ignace added bracingly, "We have to break into a bigger place you'll be first on the list." The arcanine's ears perked up somewhat and it walked away and curled up in the center of the living room.

He closed the door with a snap and locked it, then crossed the hall and threw Ricard's door open. In the middle of his living room, alternating between adjusting his tie and smoothing out his blonde hair, stood Ricard. Classical music was drifting in from his bedroom and Ignace noticed a bottle of wine and a half-empty wine glass upon an immaculate coffee table.

"Ready?" signed Ignace. He looked Ricard up and down. "You look awfully fuckin' snazzy for a break-in." The accountant wore a pure white suit, complimented with a deep blue shirt and handkerchief to match his eyes, accented with impeccably polished loafers.

d'Artagnan flapped into the room. "Because he is to play the part of the tactful one, Mortician. And you, as always, the brute."

Ignace scowled at the xatu for an instant before turning his attention to the bottle of wine on the table. He lifted it up to read the label. "Vintage Aquacorde." He looked at Ricard and signed, "Nice suit, nice shoes, and nice wine. Don't hold back at all do you?"

Ricard smiled and pulled a polished, ivory-gripped pistol from within his suit jacket, pulled the slide back partially to check the chamber and then tucked it away. "We live in two separate worlds as much as we share one, Ignace. You know this. d'Artagnan is not far off. Like this, I appear as nothing more than your average affluent man on his way to enjoy some time in whatever the _quartier rouge_ has to offer." he signed, "Should we be caught, I'll have an excellent answer to offer any prying eyes." He walked to the coffee table and picked up his glass. "Cheers."

Ignace watched him take a sip. "And that is?"

With another grin, Ricard set the glass down and responded, "We were simply looking for a fine establishment for me to lay my head alongside some other comely woman for a short while and couldn't they help us find one? I explain your presence as the result of being in my service and thus responsible for interpreting for me. Given that I am deaf and quite incapable of expecting everyone to understand sign, of course. If they look like they might be less than willing to overlook the entire ah, misunderstanding, I need only flash them a few bills. Or perhaps ivory." He strode to a wine cabinet and pulled a glass from it. "Can I tempt you with some?"

Ignace was impressed. "Thanks, but I'll pass." He sat down on one of Ricard's immaculate couches and sighed. "Nothing?" When they had returned to the apartment, Ricard had made it a point to go over every last note he'd taken down on the heart, the sigil, the shifting walls, the accusing whispers - all of it was painstakingly noted down. Ignace spared him no detail, but once he had finished recalling all he could, they entered a realm where Ignace was left to wildly guess and grasp: speculation.

The heart, its use in the occult, the strange sigils - these all the usual trappings of some kind of strange ritual likely soaked in long forgotten history. It was also probably related to ghost pokemon and the powers they possessed. Yet nothing that Ricard nor d'Artagnan could glean from the accountant's vast store of books could shed much light upon what they were dealing with. There were _mentions_ yes, the heart and its importance would crop up, and the idea behind sigils, particularly a king's sigil, had plenty of documentation, but it was all historical references, instead of information that dealt with any sort of occult practices. It sealed letters, marked property - it told a story, as Ricard had explained.

It was no unfortunate surprise to Ignace then, that his friend shook his head and signed, "Not a thing. Neither I nor d'Artagnan could find anything after examining my not insignificant library. It is likely that we may need to venture out to another library or…" He paused and rubbed his chin. "There is always the black market. Priceless historical texts and artifacts alike have a way of popping up through less savory channels. My funds, however, are not unlimited, and it is unlikely that I could outright buy any text that could help us. Something akin to leasing instead. I will investigate.

"I've also been monitoring the reports going out about the murder here, Ignace," continued Ricard, "Other than the savaged corpse the perpetrator left behind, there isn't much else to link it to the one near the cafe. It could be coincidental. I reviewed notes on the scene myself, dug into the files I procured for you and everything. The reports weren't much to go on because the body was found a day after it happened or so, not within hours; but there was no sign of blue hairs, to say nothing of the lack of scales, fibers and the miscellanea that murderers leave behind during the act."

"I know. But the body was fucked, and two bodies that were as fucked up as they were have to be connected. Especially since the third scene from a few weeks ago had a similarly ruined corpse. That's more than coincidental, that's related. I couldn't be on scene for that one either, but you got me reports and info on it just the same, and the case here and the case over by the retirement home had tons of similarities. No traces on scene that linked a perpetrator to anything that could leave traces. Or rather, that was capable of leaving traces - except that body was also found a day late. Which leads me to this theory that might explain what the fuck that dusknoir was doing."

Ricard's eyes widened. "I'm prepared to hear something outlandish." Behind him, d'Artagnan voiced his agreement.

"There has to be more than one pokemon doing the killing. I don't know if there's a person involved too, but there has to be a sneasel or weavile and some kind of ghost-type doing shit. They leave traces, don't they? But-"

"They don't leave traces for long, which would explain why the body seemingly had no evidence left on it when the police arrived, yes," signed Ricard, interjecting. "That is all well and good Ignace, and it aligns very well with how bizarre the circumstances that surround us are, but they're just conjecture. A crazed ghost could just as easily be killing people."

 _"Rather desperate, insane conjecture at that. The leaps you take between the blotted patches of the tapestry are completely blind, Mortician. You link them solely by grasping at frayed threads and trying hopelessly to tie them."_ d'Artagnan paused to flap his wings. _"This strange landing we find ourselves upon is not to be made whole on the back of desperation."_

"But the dusknoir that showed up and said some shit that made it sound like he was there to collect dusksoul or whatever. That rules it out of the murders by Ultimo Cafe, but what if it's killing people too? It could be your crazed ghost. It's taking the souls and shit of the people it kills." Ignace rose from the couch and began to pace. "So whoever died by Ultimo left that behind, right? But it was taken, the dusknoir said. By the king. So that's the heart. The heart has the soul in it. The dusknoir don't take the heart physically out of the body because that would make every burial ever a fucking pain. So they take the soul out, right? Suck it up or something, who the fuck knows."

Both Ricard and d'Artagnan looked to each other and then back to Ignace. They nodded, though a bewildered expression was plastered across Ricard's face. d'Artagnan, for all his face allowed, at least looked bemused.

Charles too was watching Ignace, and while he looked puzzled as well, he was nodding more frequently than the others were. Whether it was out of genuine understanding or reassurance, Ignace did not know, but he appreciated it just the same.

"So. Person killed. Heart taken. Heart sucked up the ghost-traces - not all of them, but most of them. If the dusknoir was the one that actually did the killing, it might have even sucked up all of them." Ignace faltered. "And that's all I've got."

Ricard rubbed his chin. "Why are dusknoir killing seemingly random individuals? There are a variety of interpretations as to their role, but I would believe they would ferry souls, not rip them from a person. We also have no reports of sightings of the duskskull line in the city at all really. We would try to find out if the police have picked up on these traces and have their own ideas in mind, but I'll have to call in a favor." He smoothed his suit out. "And I've just about exhausted my supply of favors with the Lumiose City Police Department."

"I know it's a stretch, but it's all I've got right now. And don't think I forgot about that little comment about me being your help. You're a bit of a bastard for turning me into your servant boy, but I'm surprised you're willing to flash that thing, Ricard. Hopefully it doesn't backfire."

 _"Provided you play your part expertly Mortician, I hardly see any issue arising."_ The xatu flapped his wings and then added, _"Shall we be on our way?"_

Ignace nodded with a scowl. "I'll play my part just fine. You ready Charles?"

Charles shoved the last two berries into his mouth and nodded, cheeks bulging. Ignace gave his friend a swift smile and then signed to Ricard, "Let's get goin'. And keep your mouth shut d'Artagnan."

The xatu bristled at this remark but under the unusually sharp gaze of Ricard said reluctantly, _"We move."_

* * *

The band of four stared down the building that loomed before them. There were few passersby on the sidewalk and virtually no traffic navigating the streets. Ignace looked around and let out a sigh of relief as he looked up and down the sidewalk. "Looks like getting in should be easy enough Ricard. Not many bodies out." He entered the alley to the left of the building and pointed up at a set of boards covering one of the windows above a dumpster. He glanced at Ricard and signed, "Anyone coming?" The deaf-mute shook his head and so Ignace added aloud, "Get that open Charles."

The bisharp climbed atop the dumpster and cut away the boards covering the window after a few hacks; the window behind it was broken open already. Charles ducked through the window and crunched several shards of glass beneath his feet. Unperturbed, he let out a low growl to signal Ignace.

"You can start looking for the heart if you want Charles," he called to his bisharp, "But be careful." He turned to Ricard and d'Artagnan and waved them over, signing as they walked towards him, "Through this window. Hope those loafers have thick soles. Glass on the ground." Ricard nodded in acknowledgment and signaled to Ignace to head in first.

What glass didn't break under Charles' feet crunched and cracked under Ignace's boots. He swept a foot across the ground to clear the glass from the makeshift landing and stuck an arm through the window to signal Ricard. He crept up behind Charles and mumbled, "Any sign of other people in this place?"

The bisharp peeked around the corner of the hallway and shook his head. He let out a soft, inquisitive growl and rounded the corner to stalk up the hallway.

"Awfully brave of you Charles," mumbled Ignace with a smirk. He turned back to watch d'Artagnan float through the open window and land beside Ricard. He signed to the two, "Alright, if there's another one of those weird fucking things here it'll be glowing purple and blue and it'll probably be downstairs where the light can't filter out of windows. Let's check the rooms on this floor to be sure, then head downstairs. We can try upstairs and the attic if we don't find anything downstairs."

Ricard nodded and d'Artagnan clicked his beak in affirmation. "Lead the way," signaled the former.

Ignace rounded the corner and saw Charles peeking through doors then shutting them with a disappointed growl. He caught up to his pokemon and asked, "Nothin' goin' so far?" His partner pointed to the door behind him. Upon opening it, Ignace was met with the landing for a set of stairs leading up. "Well at least we know how to get up. I'll check back near where we entered." Sure enough, the door closest the window they entered opened into a set of stairs that led down into the bowels of the building.

The stairs led out into another hallway that bore only three doors - and behind each door the motley crew of trespassers found no signs of strange lights or symbols, much less pedestals bearing human hearts.

The building was empty - or so it seemed as they worked their way from the lowest floor to the uppermost. A series of unlocked doors that led into empty boxes filled with dust and sometimes debris - once a scattering of clothing that betrayed the long destitute home of a vagrant, but no pedestals. No floating hearts and pulsing sigils. The number of doors available to them dwindled, until at last the four came to a stop beneath a hatch that led to the attic. "I don't see any fuckin' light come through the cracks in the hatch," he signed in irritation. "But the murder happened outside of this building. In an alley, just like the one by Ultimo. Well, fuck it. D'Artagnan, you've got wings and psychic energy on your side, you mind doing a quick check of the attic?"

The xatu floated through the air up to the hatch wordlessly. As he approached it, the hatch flew open and d'Artagnan disappeared into the attic. A few minutes later, the xatu returned, somewhat dustier but looking thoroughly unimpressed. _"Nothing at all, Mortician. Empty but for the dust."_

"Figured as much. Well, this place is a bust I guess. Maybe it's another building. Or in the sewers again..." mumbled Ignace.

 _"Let us be rid of this place, Mortician,"_ interjected d'Artagnan, _"and then we may continue to deliberate on our next course of action. If what we seek is not in this building then we will have destroyed only one of the three in our conquest to unseat this would-be King."_

"If there are _only_ three, that is," signed Ricard, a grim expression on his face. "There could be more. _Illumis est un kabuto poli_ , as they say."

"Yeah, but who fucking polishes a kabuto." Ignace paused and then gestured to the door that led down the stairs. "I should check the sewers. There could be something in there. I'd just have to find a manhole cover that drops me into a tunnel that'll take me here without any fucking grates getting in the way," signed Ignace as they made their way to the window they broke in through. The group clambered out one by one into the alleyway and then made their way towards the sidewalk. "Though I should probably wait for tomorrow. Last thing I need is to come across something in the sewers given where we are right now."

The four arrived at the sidewalk and waited for a cab to flag down. A thought struck Ignace. "So do you think you'll be able to pull that favor with the police in, given what we know and what's happened?"

"Perhaps. They're in dire straits at the moment. Three murders in the span of a month, all savage and not at all like what has been taken as the simple product of city life." He stopped signing and began to wave down an approaching car.

The cab came to stop before them and the window rolled down. "Where to?"

"Museum."

The taxi driver nodded and motioned for them to get in.

"Charles, up to you," began Ignace, unhooking a ball from his belt and tossing it lightly in the air. "Shotgun or ball?" Charles opened the front door of the cab and threw Ignace a smirk.

With a laugh, Ignace continued, "You're sitting in the middle, d'Artagnan." The bird's retort was drowned out by a protest.

"'Ey this guy's gonna tear up my seats!"

"You work the _rouge_ , is that really the worst thing that could happen?" The taxi driver scowled at the remark. "Anything you mind telling us about the backseat, come to think?"

With a somewhat nervous shift of his eyes, the driver relented. "Whatever, just get in."

The four of them now on their way, Ignace signed to Ricard, "The police not taking the whole thing well?"

"Not at all. They're capable enough of dealing with a variety of pokemon and human related crimes, but ghosts have always been a very strange sticking point. We just don't know enough about ghost-types, and the division between mischief and malevolence in their kind are sometimes unclear to us. The police are impacted particularly hard by this. It's part of the reason so much funding is poured into technology that focuses on ghosts. It's why you see traditional tags peppering the walls of every pokemon center, and why that differently colored tag hangs above the front door."

Ignace frowned and looked over at Charles, who had turned around in his seat and was watching the conversation. "Sit down right Charles, what're you gonna do if we hit something?"

Charles rapped his knuckles against his helmeted head and gave a harsh chuckle.

"I mean us. _You'll_ be fine, but what's gonna stop you from turning Ricard here into thinly shaved ham if you get catapulted back here?" Charles chuckled again, along with Ignace, who then turned back to Ricard. "Newer centers are being built with those fancy new walls though, aren't they?" His friend nodded. Ignace scratched his chin. "Well more to the point, I think the impact the involvement of ghosts has had explains the lack of stakeouts on the scenes."

"I would imagine it is very difficult to monitor an entire typing that is excellent at avoiding notice unless desired, yes," replied Ricard.

 _"They do not slip entirely without notice. Those of similar persuasions such as my own are not unfit for detecting the departed - human, pokemon or otherwise,"_ interjected d'Artagnan.

"They've also got fancy devices for that kinda shit too." reasoned Ignace, "Why wouldn't they just throw resources at that?"

"Because they are the Lumiose City Police Department," replied Ricard, a dismissive look on his face, "A band of men, women and pokemon dedicated mainly to preserving the city's primary source of income. They have their orders, their priorities, their livelihoods and families to consider. Is it any wonder the police that help the average citizen of the city are always so haggard looking? Baggy eyes and scruffy faces accompanied with a cup of pure espresso and a yawning pokemon. We've a reputation to uphold as one of the most desirable tourist destinations in the world, and we, the average citizens, suffer for it."

"Good to know your tax dollars are hard at work ensuring that tourists always find this city a place worth visiting. So do these seemingly random murders not fall under their purview or something?"

"They haven't been visible enough to really keep people from wanting to visit. Vicious murders are worldwide, but they aren't flaunted on the news if doing so would incite some sort of panic. They're quietly reported after everyone that only cares about the savory goings-on of the city have finished watching. The last ten minutes of the news are for people like you and I, Ignace."

"Outlaw detectives and wealthy accountants?"

"People that care."

Ignace frowned and looked out the window. "And look where that's gotten us. Look where it got Ana." he said aloud. He paused and sighed. "We need Ana for this. _I_ need Ana for this."

Ricard did not and indeed, could not hear him - and d'Artagnan, hearing sorrow in the man's voice, did not deem it necessary to translate.

* * *

Vassal watched the two men, the xatu and the bisharp file out of the taxi and disappear around a corner. A white suit, blonde hair, and talking - no, _signing_ with his hands to another fellow, taller, short black hair, dressed in a more subdued manner. He paid the driver and exited the cab, then set off to follow them.

He had been right to spend most of the day in that (fortunately) empty dumpster. _You can start looking for the heart if you want Charles._ The comment bounced about in his head. He was signing to the man in the suit - that couldn't be Charles, the man was clearly deaf. It was the xatu or the bisharp. He continued to follow them, but stopped as he saw them cross the street and unlock a gate that led into an apartment building.

It didn't matter. He knew where they lived now. Between himself, Karan, Terrence and the will of his King, these pitiful obstacles would be out of the way soon enough.


	6. Chapter 6

For all of his efforts, struggles and the endless torrents of acid, razor-edged leaves and thorny vines, Gourdon was going to lose. Karan was too fast, too advantaged, and too vicious. Every attack he launched at the weavile missed or failed to do little more than shave fur or lightly scratch. Each assault was met with two counters, and they were destroying him bit by bit. Somewhere behind him, Phillip sat, ankles slashed, incapable of walking and unable to help.

Gourdon was going to lose. He was going to die. And so was Phillip.

Karan sprang at the roserade before her and raked her claws against the bouquets he raised up to defend himself, shredding several petals in the process and driving the pokemon to wince. With a cry of defiance, vines tore out of the blooming flowers at the ends of its arms and lashed at Karan - which succeeded only at tossing the weavile back a few feet. With a grin, Karan launched herself at the wall and then straight at the roserade again. The same vines came up and only just managed to knock the weavile away.

She landed on all fours and studied the roserade with an even wider grin. Her opponent was tired. Gashes ran across his body, leaving clear, shining trails that dripped from them. In addition to mounting blood loss, small portions of his body were marked with the unmistakable greenish-browns of frostbite.

A cruel gash marred Gourdon's face as well, and it was through reflex alone that he had not lost his eye to Karan's assault. His breathing was growing more shallow with every minute, and the hapless owner of Cafe Ultimo looked on with horror, providing a stream of futile profanity and strangled cries as a backdrop to his pokemon taking ever increasing amount of punishment.

Phillip's hands were clasped at his own ankles to help stem the stream of blood running from his Achilles tendons and his stomach was turning with worry and fear. The weavile was out for blood, and Gourdon had all but lost what he had. He looked down at the pokeball that lay uselessly on the floor next to him and felt his stomach turn several times. He'd unknowingly sent his roserade to his death.

"Someone, please, anyone, help us!" The cry echoed in the empty, darkened cafe and was met with the usual silence. It wouldn't do him or his pokemon any good. It was far too late at night, or early in the morning – it hardly mattered: there were no cars on the road nor any people to save them. Why did he choose tonight to begin preparations to open again? Why did he believe the police when they told him the chances of the murderer returning were nonexistent?

With a great cry that signaled one final effort, the roserade drew himself to his full height and launched a flurry of leaves and a torrent of thick purple liquid at Karan, with vines following closely behind. Though she dodged the acid, leaving it to sizzle through the walls and floor behind her, the leaves cut into her, though only just. The few that struck her torso withered and died within seconds, and instead of lodging themselves into her body fell frozen from her. The vines wrapped themselves around her legs and one arm, but with one still free, she tore the vines apart with ease. The roserade's shoulders slumped, and its chest heaved in exhaustion. His last ditch effort left his opponent with naught more but a few cuts - he, on the other hand, could hardly stand now.

Karan walked up to the roserade with a swagger, and when he launched a feeble vine at her instead of cutting it apart, she grabbed it and wound it about a clawed hand and pulled the vine taut. The bouquet's chest was heaving now, the steady loss of blood taking its hold proper upon Gourdon's ravaged body. Karan was a foot away now and lifted her hand, and with it, one of the bouquet tipped arms of the roserade. She raised her free clawed hand and in a flash of white severed the arm from the pokemon and tossed it aside. The remaining arm of the roserade came up in an instant stem the torrent of clear, glistening blood that ran from wound, and the air filled with the scent of cut grass. A weak cry fell from Gourdon's mouth – a pathetic and pleading one – as he looked Karan in the eyes. Bitter tears of failure sprang up in his own as he thought of Phillip, sitting immobile somewhere behind him, and his own breathing began to grow ragged.

For a moment, the weavile's face bore no expression, but then the her eyes narrowed and a mocking grin alive with pointed teeth spread across her face. The sound of tearing foliage and wet splatters filled the air as Karan plunged a clawed hand into the roserade's stomach.

"NO! PLEASE, NO!"

Karan peered past the roserade at the incapacitated cafe owner and flashed him an even wider smile. The grass-type collapsed against her and let out a wet gasp. Splatters rang out again as she drove her claws deeper into the roserade's stomach, out through his back and a piercing scream of agony filled the air. The splatters became a stacatto on the ground when she tore her claws out and pushed the gasping roserade away, towards his trainer.

The roserade stumbled about, blood and strange organs falling from the gaping tear in its stomach as the remaining bouquet tipped arm futilely attempted to hold them in place. He fell to his knees and collapsed a few feet from his master. A pool of clear blood formed about him and his haggard, gasping breaths slowed and then, after several painfully long minutes, stopped. The cafe owner looked on in paralyzed horror, body wracked with grief, and mouth failing to form little more than terrified sputters before he finally found words to put to his sorrow:

"G-Gourdon, no." cried Phillip, crawling towards his fallen friend, "Please. No. No, don't go." He put a hand to the roserade's shoulder and looked into his glassy eyes. He turned, face contorted into a mix of sorrow and fury, to Karan, and wiped tears from his eyes and face haphazardly. "Why? Why are you doing this?" The weavile watched her remaining quarry silently in response. The smell of cut grass was overpowering now, and the creeping scents of sour, foul odors were beginning to wind their way into the room from Gourdon's innards.

The weavile brought a clawed finger dripping in clear liquid to her mouth and ran her tongue from the base to the tip before flexing all of her clawed digits before him. A soft purr hung in the air.

Phillip's eyes narrowed at the silent display, and with a grief-wracked bark, he commanded,"Why are you doing this?" His entire body shook with fury and his hands clenched together into fists, the shout ringing in the air of the cafe.

Karan was upon him a moment later, and drove a clawed hand into his shoulder and pushed him against the floor, straddling him. With a cry of pain he reached out and grabbed the weavile by the throat. "Get your filthy claws off me you sick fucking-"

With a snarl, Karan drew her free arm back and thrust her claws into the arm that was attempting to strangle her – he released his grip immediately, accompanied with another great cry of pain. The smile had fallen away into an ugly grimace of determination and Karan used the opening to drive her claws into Phillip's eyes. There was a long, carrying scream, masking a vicious snarl from Karan as she forced her claws down until they hit bone amid a terrible wet squelch, and the cafe owner fell quiet and still forever.

Karan dislodged her claws from the corpse and tore open his chest with some difficulty. She had not expected a battle, even as one-sided as it was, and it had sapped her of some of her strength. She let out a long breath and then tore Phillip's heart from his body along with a portion of his shirt to wrap it in. Once completely wrapped, she departed the cafe with hope in her own heart that her king would be pleased.

* * *

Vassal stalked into the king's chamber and knelt before the throne. " _Mon roi_ , I have tracked down the ones responsible for interfering in your affairs." He looked up at the throne, bearing a black mass whose surface was in constant turmoil. Three purple lights winked into existence in the center of the amalgam of darkness and shone bright.

"It would seem my forgiveness was not wasted upon you, Vassal." A swell of pride welled within Vassal, crushed immediately when the voice boomed, "And you have seen to their ends? They will not interfere again, yes?"

The man's mouth went dry. "A-ah, yes, _mon roi_ , I…that is, no, I haven't-"

"Then why do you return to YOUR KING?" The very chamber shook with the king's fury. "Are you something lesser than a Vassal? Need I name you PEASANT, as I have that insolent shade?" The words rang in Vassal's ears, and each word made his body shiver harder.

The quakes that ran through the ground did not compare to the quaking in his soul as he watched the shadows that surrounded the throne begin to creep out along the stone floor, inching towards him in sinister tendrils until he felt them winding around his ankles. These strange shadows sent his skin into the coldest pits of hell, their weightless touch sending unnatural chills through his body. The tendrils wound higher; they soaked into his very spirit, tearing at the edges of his frail soul.

"It was a mistake, my king, just an error, I did not wish to put right something that may have demanded a royal hand!" The tendril that had wound about his midsection and chest stopped inches from his neck.

"Until the ascension is completed, Vassal, the only royal hands are those I work through you, the ingrate, and the whore." The tendrils began to recede, leaving in behind a horrific burning sensation as the chilled and frayed edges of his spirit came alight with some strange fire that he thought might cause his chest to erupt into flames. Vassal fell to his hands and knees and gasped for air, brow thick with sweat; he did not dare raise his eyes to his king until he had seen the tendrils recede completely back into the light-sapping aura that radiated about his king's throne.

A soft purr hit his ear from a few feet behind him. He sat up in a kneeling position and looked back. "Karan," he noted, doing his best to keep his voice even, "You've returned. With the heart, no less." The weavile gave him a quick smirk and then approached the throne. She presented the heart to the darkness and inclined her head.

"Vassal, take the heart to where it belongs and rid me of those that seek to undo my ascension. Return when that is complete or _do not return at all_." The last few words dripped with venom and made Vassal recoil.

"Yes, my liege, at once." He inclined his head. "It shall be done, I give you my word." He prostrated himself before the throne and then rose to his feet.

"Your word has nearly run the course of my good graces, Vassal. See to it that you do not owe me _your soul._ " There was a pause, and then the voice added, "As for you, whore, you have done well. Assist Vassal. Clearly he requires a more competent hand than his own to guide him." The weavile smiled and returned a deep bow to her king. She turned to Vassal, and her smile came away into the usual smirk she had reserved for him.

Vassal looked past the weavile, back to the shifting mass in the throne and nodded. "At once, _mon roi._ " He looked back to Karan and added, "Let's go." The weavile sauntered past him and familiar scents drifted into Vassal's nose. "You smell like cut grass and copper."

Karan purred.

* * *

Ricard set plates of liechi filled pastry upon the settings he'd put out onto his dining room table - one each for Ignace, Charles and d'Artagnan. He poured Ignace a cup of coffee before pouring himself and then returned the pot to his kitchenette. He sat down to the sounds of Charles demolishing his own pastry, and with a slight grin, cracked his knuckles and looked to Ignace. The rogue detective raised an eyebrow and nodded. He picked the remote up off the table and lowered the volume on the television that stood several feet away from them.

"A bit of unusual breakfast news for you. Madame Victoire finally forwarded us payment, and only a month late. With that, we have received the last of the funds owed to us by our clients for the work we performed for them. I suggest we seek to resolve the current dilemma as urgently as we can - my own coffers are, ah, _impressive_ , but not limitless." Ricard took a bite of his pastry and wiped crumbs from the corner of his mouth, then produced an envelope from his jacket. "I was less than interested in finding out how she procured it, before you ask." He pulled a sizable bundle of bills from the envelope and slid them across the table to Ignace. "I've already deducted what you owe for rent."

Ignace took a sip from his coffee and shrugged. "We got paid and she got her shroomish back; that's all that really matters. And thanks." He glanced down at his own pastry and then over at Charles, who had, until that point, been staring at it with a hungry look in his eyes. Crumbs adorned his own plate and his coffee was neglected. He noticed Ignace however and looked away, having suddenly become _very_ interested in the blank wall to his left. With a chuckle, Ignace slid the plate bearing his own pastry over to his friend. "Just ask next time ya idiot."

The bisharp threw him a look of mock offense and tore into the pastry with glee.

"Surprised we got it back in one piece honestly," he signed, looking back to Ricard, "I was under the impression they'd dried and powdered him already." He took a sip from his coffee before continuing, "Change of pace was at least nice."

"You must be enjoying the fact you don't have to put on galoshes and wade through the _rouge_."

Ignace leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. "Too much shit moves through or ends up there. People, pokemon, narcotics, fucking weapons - and we're still number one for tourism." He sat up and leaned forward to prop his chin up with his hand. "I shouldn't be amazed people still visit. They hardly know. The extent of it anyway."

Ignace's eyes flicked to d'Artagnan for a moment, but saw only the xatu sitting quite still upon his chair, a half-eaten pastry floating next to him ready for another bite.

"You can thank well-intentioned corruption for that." signed Ricard, his face twisted into a wry smile. "Pay off the right officials and keep your nose clean and no one has to worry. Fatten a few wallets, trickle the rest into the system to keep the windows gleaming, the bakeries inviting and the _rouge_ relatively safe." He rubbed his hands together and then pulled them apart, spreading his fingers wide before signing, "Pure profit, minimal crime, and all the whores and powder you could ever want to spend a vacation inside." He leaned back in his own chair and heaved a silent sigh. "And here we are, hands tied and hearts heavy. Too insignificant to fight the many-headed beast that lurks in the _rouge_ , so instead we help those affected that they may find some small comfort in a city the transients glimpse only through soft thighs, tall buildings and addled hazes."

Ignace finished coffee and pulled a face of distaste into the empty mug - not for the coffee, but the sour feeling in his stomach as his thoughts slipped back in time two years. "I didn't leave Unova for this." He looked up at Ricard. "I didn't bring Ana here for this. And yet, the more things change…"

The deaf-mute got to his feet and went to pour himself another cup of coffee. He signed to Ignace from the kitchenette, "Then you must be quite happy we have this strange prophecy to deal with. I know that I am all too pleased that, as strange as d'Artagnan's disposition has become, it has led us to do something different. Though I fear we'll be back in familiar territory all too soon. Even this so-called king must do some work among the peasantry."

"Yeah. Which is why I have to go back into the fuckin' sewers and snoop around." He looked to Charles. "Ready for more dark tunnels and raw sewage?"

The bisharp frowned and took a sip of coffee in lieu of a response.

"I'll take that as a yes." He turned back to the accountant and after a pause signed, "We-." He paused and sighed. "I want to get Ana back. I know it's dangerous, in more ways than one too, but this kind of shit was where she thrived. Her and that grumpy banette."

"She's not well, you know better than anyone else."

Another sigh. "I know she's not, but she's just out there, sitting by the sea, burning incense, making tags and selling fucking milk." He heaved himself out of his seat and paced the room, pausing only to look to Ricard and add, "This shit is going to get worse. We're already at human hearts on pillars. Strange ghost shit and prophecies, reaper's cloths and vicious weavile. Singular or plural, we don't know. Bringing her here would put her in danger, but it's what she'd want to do."

 _"That poor woman's propensity for doing all she can to assist has, as far as you have been willing to divulge, not aided her or her wellbeing, Mortician."_ Hearing d'Artagnan talk after such an uncharacteristically long silence took Ignace aback. _"However,"_ he added, now turning to face Ricard, _"The Mortician is not incorrect. Her skills are doubtless of use to us and our aims."_

"You could be bringing her to her death," signed Ricard, his face stony, "or perhaps something worse. She could be affected in a way that escapes our comprehension, or even our ability to guess. You have said yourself the woman's mental state is fragile enough as it is; are you willing to bear responsibility for bringing her to the breaking point?"

"It's what Ana would want. I'd want her to do the same if the tables were turned."

"I hardly see the reasoning behind bringing the woman here when it is entirely possible that she will watch her lover fail and fall. Or worse."

Ignace looked at Charles, who gave him a determined nod and an affirmative growl. "I've fucked up before," he signed. He traced the scar that ran down his chest through his shirt. "And she doesn't blame me in the slightest. At least I tried." He paused. "She tried. _We_ tried." He gestured between himself and Charles.

"The idea is about as intelligent as tossing yourself to a pack of mightyena while coated in blood. That is my judgment on the whole idea. But if you are so determined, why ask me, Ignace?"

Ignace strode across the room and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Because I trust your judgment, why the fuck else?" The accountant gave him a grudging smile, and Ignace returned it. "Not yet then. Once we've got a bit more information though, we're getting Ana. Tags alone will be helpful."

 _"Perhaps it is time you visit her,"_ interjected d'Artagnan, _"And take advantage of the visit to procure some."_

Ignace turned to the xatu. "You're being awful helpful today, I almost feel bad for flicking you in the back of the head."

_"Make no mistake. You will receive your comeuppance in due time."_

"I'm trembling." Ignace raised the volume on the television, his eyes catching on a breaking news report. Subtitles trailed slightly behind the newscaster's mouth:

"... _in a sorry state. Police have combed the scene and happened upon evidence that they believe will lead them straight to the pokemon responsible for the death of Cafe Ultimo's owner and his roserade. He is survived by his daughter and his shuckle…"_

The story was written evasively, likely to prevent panic and outcry, but the two had become skilled at "seeing through the tauros shit" as Ignace called it.

"Look like you'll need to visit Ultimo again and possibly destroy a freshly replaced heart in addition to poking about the _rouge_." The deaf-mute paused and rubbed his temples. "All your work undone it seems. Unless someone new has decided to capitalize on bizarre, violent murders."

"They're onto us, bottom line. Or someone, they're at least onto someone. This king and his peasantry. They know _someone_ is fucking with them, and after that episode in the spirit world they probably already guessed that it's us." Ignace's gaze flicked from Ricard to the television and he repeated soundlessly, "Police are well aware of how terrible the situation is but are confident that they have deduced the pokemon responsible and are setting plans in motion to apprehend it."

There was a loud squawk, and the three seated at the table looked at d'Artagnan. _"There stand five shadows on the edges of the tapestry."_ There was a pause and the eyes upon d'Artagnan's chest flashed.

"Another chunk of the prophecy?" signed Ricard.

_"The flame moves to the edges of the tapestry and sets the fraying ends alight. The flickering shadow of the Mortician's heart blinks out of the cloth and drags with it two forms, dissimilar, but inextricably linked. Far from here, these three forms are, at the seat of the Mortician's last hope: safety. The edges fray more and the flame dies. Out of the dark, new forms explodes. Man and monster."_

The table was silent - the light in the xatu's eyes had yet to die. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the glows in the eyes upon his chest faded and d'Artagnan finished, _"We are being hunted."_

* * *

Vassal and Karan stared each other down, waiting on Peasant in the sewers. They were a few blocks from the apartment where their quarry lived. Two men, a bisharp and a xatu. Men were easy enough - sharp daggers and sharper claws. The xatu would pose little threat to Karan too, for the very elements were stacked against its favor. But the bisharp would be the sticking point. They had to be fast, and make such short work of the other three that their full efforts could be focused on the Sword Blade. With the xatu gone, Peasant would be in his own element, and through the three of them they would wear him down.

But more importantly, they required Peasant to even begin their assault, as only he possessed the ability to comb through the building and search out their targets without any within becoming privy to their presence.

Vassal looked Karan up and down. The weavile stood, reclined against the wall behind her, running a piece of leather between her claws. She'd changed significantly since he'd "procured" her several months old uncertainty and comfort found in simple affections had died, and no doubt been replaced by her bizarre devotion to his king. In a way, it was saddening, and yet he knew his king had always meant for her to fall into his grasp. Privately, he wondered how long he'd continue to call her "whore", but he pushed the thought from his mind. He'd seen the small glimpses of power his king could bring to bear, and he knew that it had not been a mistake to choose to follow him.

He pulled his poignard from its sheath and ran a thumb along the flat of the blade. Some strange feeling in his heart reassured him too. Like a soothing oblivion that promised a new eden, hidden away somewhere deep within its black coils.

"I'm here. What do you want?" It was Peasant, materializing out of the wall near them and looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"You're looking for a deaf-mute with blonde hair, a bisharp, and a xatu - they're likely with a man with short, black hair. One of them is named Charles, likely either the bisharp or xatu."

"Then let's get out of these sewers so you can point the building out so we can get this over with."The gengar's face was twisted into a deep frown and his eyes burned with hate as they flicked between the man and the weavile. "Today?"

"Mind your tongue, Peasant," spat Vassal. "Karan, put it away. It's time we clear the foolish obstacles that stand in our king's way."

She complied, and wound the leather strip back into its original form: a strange, simple leather necklace and tied it around her neck. She nodded to Vassal, who climbed up the nearby manhole access ladder and slid it aside.

"Take your time with your investigation Peasant. We will likely strike at night," called Vassal into the manhole. "And _do not get caught._ "

Terrence grumbled and watched Karan ascend the ladder. "Don't need to tell me twice."

* * *

"Feeling inspired yet, Viola?" asked Johannes with a grin. He turned his gaze back to the gardevoir that sat across from him in the cafe. Quiet murmurs were all that broke the otherwise peaceful air that had settled over the entire location, and many of the customers in the cafe bore signs of being residents, not tourists. "Lots of picturesque vistas just about everywhere you step in this city."

She nodded with glee. _"I'm rather unhappy that I didn't have the presence of mind to bring some painting supplies along with me,"_ replied tones and placid greens in his head. With a pleading smile she reached across the table and seized both of his hands. _"Can we?"_ she asked, dragging the last word out in his head, shifting it from its usual musical tone to an odd sort of ring.

" _Monsieur?_ Your check." The waiter placed a slip of paper down on the table with a nod. His eyes lingered for a second on the pair's hands. A sparkle. "Are you enjoying Lumiose?"

Johannes nodded at the waiter and made for the check, "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"The tourist capital of the entire world, sir. It is only too easy to spot the tourists," replied the waiter. "Though I am a bit curious as to how you found your way this deep into the decidedly less "touristy" parts of _Illumis_."

 _"Johannes here was of the idea that we should see parts of Lumiose that tourists don't typically venture into. This cafe seemed like a lovely place to stop and relax before setting out again."_ The waiter turned to look to Viola and nodded at the beaming gardevoir.

"I hope you both find your stay enjoyable. Please, at your leisure." He gestured to the check, gave them a small bow and left.

Johannes dropped a sum of money on the check and look up in time to see Viola throw a furtive look around the cafe. She took his hand in hers and whispered in his head, "Let's get out of here."

With a grin, he rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and rose from his seat, and the two parted from the cafe, out onto the quiet streets of East Lumiose. Few passersby were trotting along the winding, sunlit sidewalks and most of the cars on the road were not cabs, but personal vehicles. Every so often a rider atop a pokemon would canter past, but this part of town seemed decidedly lonely to the two.

As they walked down the street, Viola's voice came alive in Johannes's head again. _"This way dear."_ She walked ahead of him, tugging him by the hand along a few intersections, deeper still into the east, until most of the buildings seemed to be residential apartment complexes. She glanced about and, after throwing a grin to Johannes, pulled him into a nearby alley.

In the shade of buildings away from prying and judging eyes, the air was cooler, and the alley twisted and branched out before the two as Viola led them down several random turns and then threw her arms around his neck to kiss him. The two rolled against the wall, upright, for several feet before they broke apart and Johannes, through a somewhat embarrassed grin, remarked, "Feeling awful forward today aren't we?"

Viola buried her face into his chest. _"I didn't think I'd miss Sinnoh quite as much as I am finding myself to."_ She sighed and continued, _"So I'll take what I can manage outside of the privacy of a hotel room."_ She reached down and took his hand in hers and pressed into Johannes, gave him a fond smile and added, _"Kalos has otherwise been wonderful Johannes. I'm glad we came here to-"_

She stopped and put her hand to her head, a look of minor pain on her face. Her brow scrunched together and she stepped away from Johannes, bringing her other hand up to clutch her head.

Johannes stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder in concern. "Viola? What's wrong?" He noticed the air had begun to cool and the alley itself seemed to darken.

She stumbled away from Johannes and a grunt of pain formed on her lips. The voice in his head was dissonant, cracking and distorted. _"Something is wrong here Johannes. Terribly wrong."_ She stumbled her way to the T-junction formed by the set of branches in the alley and then fell to a knee. Another groan of pain, and much louder now. _"We must leave. Immediately."_

His breath was misting out before him now and Johannes felt himself shivering. He helped Viola to her feet and put one of her arms around him and hoisted her up by the waist. "What the hell is going on Viola?"

Silence.

"Viola?"

The gardevoir lifted her head feebly and a weak chime sprang to life in his head, _"Whispers of the damned, master."_

Her own teasing aside, she called him this only in cases of duress, when the layers of socialization and learned behaviors were stripped away and left the essence of her form laid bare. He felt her legs give out beneath her and with a grunt, he picked her up off her feet and made to leave the alley.

"Not another step dawnsoul."

Johannes turned round and felt his blood run cold. A dusknoir rose out of the ground, its gaze fixed squarely upon him. An arm came up and began to glow purple and the lone dumpster that decorated the alley exploded open. A mangled corpse landed between the two. Johannes's mouth fell agape in horror. It looked as if its chest had exploded, and many parts of its body bore strange black and purple burns. It also was also smoking, trails of blacks and purples rising from it in odd spirals and shapes.

"Mockery made of this form, vessel ripped free and body destroyed. The soul of this old dawn lies away from here, bound by a pretender to the throne - seals of dusk and the heart of an usurper. But a new dawn has appeared, to be consumed by dusk and right this wrong." The maw upon the dusknoir's stomach began to open. "Make your peace."


	7. Chapter 7

The dusknoir's maw brought with it unearthly wails unlike anything Johannes had ever heard - strangled cries and moans played through the filter of ages past, distorted and stretched out across all of time itself. A slow caterwaul shook the ground - powerful enough that it made his bones ache and chilled his soul. The air around him dropped in temperature sharply and the entire alleyway was bathed in a darkness so deep that the world itself seemed to cease less than a few feet from him.

He threw himself to the right as an orb of deep purple energy exploded against the wall where he stood a moment earlier and landed flat on his back, Viola splayed atop him, unresponsive. He could see his breath and hers misting in the air. Shivering, he plunged his hand towards his belt and unhooked two balls from it and with a small, almost ineffective toss, they exploded open and revealed the forms of a harnessed Chloanne, his skarmory, and Aki, his piloswine.

Chloanne gave a great shriek and eyed the dusknoir with a sharp eye, while Aki obscured Johannes and Viola's fallen frames. The shaggy hair that dangled over his eyes and nose fluttered with a snort as he too fixed his attention on the dusknoir.

Johannes struggled to his feet, Viola's limp frame keeping him slightly hunched over, and muttered, "Chlo, we need to get out of here. You ready to do some heavy lifting?" The skarmory ruffled her wings and let out screech of approval.

A sphere of energy formed on each of the dusknoir's hands as it groaned, its voice hanging thickly in the air of the alley and leaving the hairs on Johannes's arms standing on end, "Your resistance is foolish, futile and damning, dawnsoul. Dusk comes for all who walk the light. Even the gods themselves cannot restrain us." It threw both spheres directly at Johannes, though Aki intercepted them with a deafening roar and let out a much louder snort as it rounded on the dusknoir. A second roar echoed in the alleyway and the piloswine breathed out a cone of intense cold. Patches of ice formed on the dusknoir's shifting body and created a thin, shining veneer around its body. With a spin, the ice sheets cracked and fell away from it with a soft tinkle as the dusknoir launched a volley of purple spheres at Aki with a snarl.

The piloswine endured these as well, though a pained growl followed by a low whine sprung to life deep within the mass of fur afterwards. Time to move, thought Johannes, before Aki took any more damage.

"Let's go Cholanne, get us out of here!" he shouted. The skarmory took flight and hovered over Johannes's head. He grabbed hold of the underside of the harness and clutched Viola closer to his body with his free arm. "Freeze it Aki!" The piloswine let out another bellow at the command and a storm whipped up around him. It partially obscured the great, shaggy mass, but that mattered little to Johannes - recall beams did not discriminate on the count of something as simple as a small blizzard.

The piloswine's body turned a bright red as it dematerialized and shot back into his pokeball. Johannes prepared himself to let out a sigh of relief but felt it catch in his throat as the dusknoir began to float after him. He whipped his head about and shouted to Chloanne, "Get us out of here as fast as you can!"

The skarmory responded with a great cry of affirmation and began to speed towards the inky blackness that had replaced the sky beyond the rooftops. There was a loud crashing sound and a long, unearthly moan rose in Johannes's ears as the pitch darkness broke away to something akin to shards of pure black, into the familiar, sunny sky of Lumiose proper. They rose up out of the opening and Johannes whipped his head back towards the dusknoir in pursuit. His mouth fell open - it was as if the section of alley they were in had been slotted with black gelatin, so sharp was the division between pitch-darkness and regularly lit alley. The dusknoir did not give up its pursuit and began to launch more balls of purplish-black energy at the fleeing trio.

In his arms, Viola stirred and let out a soft whimper. Dissonant notes rose in his head, uneven in their register and volume. _"Johannes...what's happening?"_

Johannes grunted as he threw his legs to the left, pitching Chloanne's body in the same direction and out of the way of an incoming shadow ball. "We're. Avoiding. A dusknoir." He shouted for Chloanne to dodge right and then brought Viola closer to his body, fearing the rolling changes in Chloanne's orientation would slip the gardevoir from his grasp. An arm clutched around his midsection as Viola regained her composure.

Her eyes scanned the rooftops streaking past them as they fled from the ghost. _"Then we must evade it completely or destroy it."_ She raised her free hand - a ball of soft, pink light began to form in it and with a grunt of exertion, she tossed it directly at their pursuer. It clipped one of the dusknoir's arms but did not deter it, instead drawing a pained, furious moan from the apparition.

Several balls for ghostly energy flew at the trio and Johannes commanded Chloanne to roll sharply to the left and pitch downwards. The rooftops and winding alleys of Lumiose sped towards Johannes and he shut his eyes, terrified they'd crash.

For a moment, he thought they had, as a sharp pain exploded on his right thigh, but he then felt a sharp yank upwards in his stomach as Chloanne evened out her pitch and through grit teeth he looked over his shoulder for their pursuer. The dusknoir seemed to have stopped chasing them and instead was screaming in anger at them. Strange sparks of purple energy flew from its body and then, all at once, it was gone.

"Get us on the ground as fast as you can Chloanne," he panted, his hand pressed over the smoking wound on his leg. "Please."

Viola wound her other arm around his body. _"Breathe in slowly, Johannes,"_ she explained, the voice in his head dripping in worry, _"I can help."_

Chloanne set the couple down outside of a confectionary shop and let out a soft croon towards Johannes. He thanked her and recalled the skarmory before collapsing into a chair. A crowd of muttering onlookers watched in disbelief at the interaction that unfolded before them.

 _"Move your hand Johannes. I will do my best to remedy this."_ He nodded and complied. A large patch of his jeans had been burnt away and an angry crater of black flesh burned with purple cinders still. Johannes clutched the armrests of his seat tightly as Viola began to work, wincing and letting out a sharp breath of pain as she pressed her hands against the wound. Her eyes closed as she drew in a deep breath and held it; when she opened her eyes again they flashed red and a peculiar pinkish-purple aura sprung to life around her hands, and the blackened crater upon Johannes's thigh began to regain color and life.

When she pulled her hands away at last, the crater had diminished considerably, replaced instead with flesh that was raw and red, not unlike skin scraped away by rough road after a bad fall. A moment later the wound began to bleed, and while painful, it was a fair sight nicer than a blackened pit. "Thank you Viola," he muttered, wincing, "dunno what I'd do without y - argh." He grit his teeth as she pressed her hands against the wound, face creased with worry.

_"We require something to wrap this wound Johannes."_

Somewhere behind Johannes, someone cleared their throat. "Excuse me sir, do you require medical assistance?" The researcher turned his head and found the figure of a man dressed as a waiter. The small, polished nametag on his chest read, "Ferdinand."

Johannes nodded. "Yes. Please." He looked around as the waiter retreated into the cafe. Eyes from all directions seemed to bore into him. Pain had made them invisible, but the prickles and stings that lived beneath Viola's hands could do no such thing. His eyes scanned forgotten pastries, half-empty mugs of coffee and glasses of water. They moved to overturned chairs and the crushed and cracked toppings of a fallen table, no doubt the product of surprise or fright brought on by the sight of a grown man bearing a smoking wound on his thigh and clutching a gardevoir descending upon them, hanging from a skarmory.

He almost laughed. It must have been quite the sight. Unfortunately for him, the strange mixture of subsiding adrenaline, relief at their escape, and the stinging pain in his thigh would be completely replaced with the uncomfortable sensation of a stone dropping into his stomach. From the confectioner's shop emerged not only Ferdinand, clutching a medical kit, but also a somber-looking Lumiose police officer.

The waiter opened the medical kit and removed a roll of gauze and said quietly, "If you would please have your gardevoir move away, _monsieur._ "

Viola turned to look at Ferdinand and with a huff of disapproval held a blood-streaked hand up to him and flexed a finger adorned with a ring. The waiter hardly had time to flinch as the gauze flew from his hand and into Viola's. A cold voice in his head said shortly, _"I am more than capable."_ She took to wrapping the gauze around Johannes's leg, her face set and gaze hard.

The officer sighed as his eyes flitted between Viola's hands and down at Johannes's, no longer tightly clutching the armrests but instead simply laying upon them. A soft glint of white-gold caught the sun. "Of course," he muttered. "Tourists." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Johannes and glanced over at him. "Sinnoh."

It wasn't a question. Johannes turned to look at the officer. "Did I break some kind of law?"

The officer pulled a small notepad and pen from his jacket and flipped to a blank page. "Maybe. You might have fit the description for a murder case." He licked the tip of his pen and began to tap it idly against a corner of the page. "I doubt you do now."

Ferdinand bent to whisper something into the officer's ear. With a short, sharp laugh, the officer shook his head and replied, " _Sinnoh. Elle est son épouse._ " The waiter threw the couple an almost patronizing look and then disappeared back into the shop. The officer turned his attention back to Johannes. "Officer Moreau. I have a few questions concerning how you got that wound and your rather startling appearance at this confectionery shop."

Viola stood up, wiping her hands clean on an extra piece of gauze, pleased with her handiwork, but had little time to enjoy her success when she saw the wary eyes and slight frown upon Johannes's face. She switched her focus between him and the officer. _"Did we do something wrong, Johannes?"_

He gave the officer a long look before he sighed and slumped into his chair. "I don't know Viola." He paused and turned to look back at the officer. "What are your questions officer?"

"Have you been in Lumiose for long?"

"Less than a week."

"And Kalos?"

"Same. Less than a week."

A pause. The officer made a note in his pad and then continued: "Have you visited Cafe Ultimo?"

"No. Someone suggested it but also told me to wait until it wasn't closed anymore. Didn't say much else."

The officer chewed on the end of his pen. "What happened? Why the wound?"

"A dusknoir rose out of the ground in an alley I was in, knocked out Viola and then tried to kill us both. Said something strange to me about souls or something, I don't really remember. It chased me after I took to the sky with Chloanne, my skarmory."

There was a long pause as the officer stared at Johannes. The researcher hoped desperately that this far-fetched tale wouldn't be written off as some kind of bizarre lie. Finally, after a solid minute of silent staring, the officer spoke:

" _Merde."_

* * *

Ignace drew the dagger on his boot and ran his finger across the flat of the blade. "Hunted how, d'Artagnan?"

_"The Sight has shown us muddied figures that wish to see us destroyed, Mortician. We are hunted."_

Ignace stood up and turned to face the door, dagger in a reverse grip and his stance defensive. He heard a chair scrape next to him as Charles walked over to join him.

 _"There is no need to be worried just yet Mortician."_ With a loud click of his beak that signaled for Ignace and Charles to relax, d'Artagnan continued, _"The shapes on the horizon are yet formless and paranoia will deliver us nowhere."_

Ricard nodded and added, "We should be fine Ignace, sit down. Your insistence on having the entirety of both apartments tagged and laced with alarms will finally prove itself useful."

The detective continued to eye the door, a thin frown creasing his face. "Tagged and alert or not, there's always another way in. Brute force and subtlety are a little bit harder to prepare against, you know damn well we don't have much in the way of options for that shit." Signing this to Ricard while still keeping his eyes on the door was difficult and awkward - despite the gravity of the situation, he heard Charles snicker. Perhaps he _did_ look ridiculous. A hand came to his shoulder; it was Ricard smiling and shaking his head.

His hand movements, his posture - all of it was laid back."We have _guns_ for that very reason Ignace." He gestured back to the chair. "Sit. If it is so worrying to you then you may remain here until these formless entities have retreated."

"Strength in numbers I guess. Let me grab some shit from my apartment. Let's go Charles."

They succeeded in moving a pistol, several magazines of ammunition, three books, his pokeballs, his anti-stab vest and his second, longer knife without incident. Charles even managed another bowl of liechi berries. No sooner had they crossed the threshold back into Ricard's that Ignace wheeled around and slammed the door, throwing its many bolts shut and propping a chair against the door knob.

The sound of his pistol racking rang out in the quiet apartment, hung for a moment and then was drowned out by a chorus of laughter from Charles, Ricard and d'Artagnan. The serious look upon Igance's face gradually gave way to a grudging grin and he sighed as he holstered his pistol. "Fine. It was an overreaction. But we're still staying here. Gods know that Ricard can't shoot to save his life."

With a look of mock offense, Ricard replied, "How could you Ignace? I'm sorely wounded." He finished with a rude gesture at Ignace, complete with a wide grin and turned back to the television. The grin fell immediately from his face, replaced instead with a look of alarm. Noticing this, Ignace turned to watch the screen as well.

It was a shaky video, likely taken from a C-Gear and the sounds of scratchy, compressed screams were playing through the speaker. A figure hanging from a Skarmory and clutching another body that Ignace couldn't make out was flying over Lumiose, evidently fleeing from a-

"Dusknoir." He said aloud. Ricard turned to look at Ignace, incomprehension alive on his features. "Dusknoir," he signed, "Why the fuck is a dusknoir chasing him?" The video cut out to another perspective - clearly the entire spectacle had people all over the city looking skyward.

Ignace drew closer to the television and squinted at the figure the man was carrying; he turned back to Ricard and signed, "It's a gardevoir. I think anyway, video quality sucks shit."

The accountant shrugged. "Whatever pokemon that Trainer may have with him, it is imperative we figure out what has happened to them. We could get important information from them."

 _"Such as the location of yet another obscene pillar,"_ boomed a voice in both of their heads. The two looked at d'Artagnan, who preened his feathers in response. Ignace turned the volume on the television up.

_"...taken in by the Lumiose police department for further questioning. Witnesses said the Trainer was pursued by a dusknoir for several blocks before the pokemon gave up chase. Police have refused to release further information, or if the Trainer is a suspect in any of the murders over the past month. Official reports by police indicate that no connection between the killings has yet to be drawn..."_

Ignace lowered the volume on the television again. "He probably doesn't know what's going on," he signed.

Ricard nodded. "Yes, but he does know something." His friend raised an eyebrow. "He knows where the dusknoir appeared to him. And a heart could be nearby."

"For fuck's sake Ricard, you really want to get some poor dick involved?" he signed in reply.

"We are not involving him. We are getting information from him." Ricard paused. "I fear he may already be involved anyway. These are forces beyond our comprehension. He could be a part of d'Artagnan's oft mentioned "tapestry"...or perhaps he is indeed just some "poor dick" as you put it."

Ignace sank into a chair. "Aren't we being hunted? Can we even chase this lead down?"

 _"There is little need to worry about those who hunt us now, Mortician,"_ said d'Artagnan. Both Ignace and Ricard turned to look at the xatu. _"The tags work well."_ The two turned to look in the direction d'Artagnan was facing and noticed one of the tags that adorned the ceiling was glowing a soft purple.

It was an idea born entirely out of paranoia, and Ignace was not one to let even _slightly_ founded paranoia go unappeased. He insisted on plastering tags around his and Ricard's apartment, and while they were significantly more slapdash than the work Ana could have done, they clearly, as d'Artagnan noted, functioned.

"What's trying to get through?" mumbled Ignace. Charles was standing at attention next to him, arms raised, a low growl rising in the air.

 _"The Sight does not penetrate the world of the damned so easily Mortician, especially not when the barriers of man overlap the barriers of the immaterial,"_ explained d'Artagnan coolly. The xatu's eyes in his head closed, but those on his chest flashed a brilliant purple. _"As expected. A murky figure, squat and spiked, but eclipsed by shadow. Bipedal."_

Low, throbbing cry of laughter echoed out of d'Artagnan and made the hair on Ignace's arms stand on end. _"Nevertheless we are safe within our abode. Upon exiting however...I am not so sure."_

"Can whoever's pursuing us hear us?" signed Ricard.

 _"Hardly. Our voices are muffled by barriers both real and immaterial, our forms blurred by the glass between worlds. Our pursuer is privy to our species, but not our discussion."_ There was a short pause. _"Ah. And our assailant is_ furious _."_

* * *

Terrence eyed the barrier created by the tags that kept him from phasing back into realspace with contempt. They were everywhere in Lumiose, but they usually kept storerooms, pokemon centers and the like secured against unscrupulous owners of ghost-types and wandering ghosts alike. He reached a hand out and pressed it flat against one of several symbols that floated in space before him. Beyond it he could vaguely make out the softly pulsing shadows of four figures, but his hand came up against a hard, invisible barrier and the symbol closest to it pulsed and emitted a loud hum. He inspected the symbol again and smirked. The light it emitted wasn't pulsing, as the symbols normally did, but instead flickering ever so slightly.

He balled his hand into a fist and punched the symbol squarely in the center. It flickered, let out a much louder hum and then a small shock worked its way through his hand and into the core of his body. With a grimace he punched the symbol again - the shock was stronger the time, but the symbol did not flicker as brightly. With grit teeth and face set, Terrence punched the symbol a third time and the symbol exploded. The shock was the worst of the three, but it was not enough to dissuade him.

The figures began to clear somewhat and he saw them moving about. Perhaps they were panicking, perhaps they were none the wiser - he hardly knew nor cared. The sooner he could rid himself of the xatu and two humans the sooner the bisharp would be left alone to the assault of Karan, Vassal and himself.

He phased through the barrier into the room, still invisible. Here, on this side of the veil, the figures were more defined, but as he was still almost entirely phased, his view of them was intensely blurred and the features of the room were lost on him. Sound, however, was not.

 _"Have you come to kill us, interloper?"_ echoed a voice.

Terrence snarled, "Yes." He phased completely into to the room and his eyes flashed a shifting palette of colors for a second, his gaze trained on the bisharp in the room looking up at him. The pokemon clutched its head and stumbled about, confused.

The dark-haired figure seemed to be flailing his arms, but Terrence ignored it. He wouldn't have long to work - the bisharp would not be at a disadvantage for long - and dematerialized again to cross the room unhindered and rise up behind the xatu in the chair. As he faded away and moved into position, the bird spoke:

 _"Your coming was foreseen, hunter. We may not know you nor your party, but we know of you. We know of them. Your "surprise attack" will not succeed."_ The xatu's voice was calm - almost gloating. _"You may even meet your end here, shade."_

As Terrence rematerialized, his hands emanating an aura of deep purple energy aimed directly at the xatu he heard a strange sound. It was almost familiar. Metallic.

_Clack._

The blonde and black-haired humans in the room both had pistols leveled against him. The blonde's face was twisted into an ugly grimace of rage, while the dark-haired man said gravely, "Faster than a bullet asshole?"

Terrence swore under his breath and phased out of reality again - two sounds, one after the other, almost pneumatic in nature, rang out, and the feeling of a punch unlike any he'd ever felt erupted to life in his left leg, followed immediately by an insistent, painful burning. He flew as quickly as he could back through the tagless ceiling and phased back into the spirit realm. Spewing a nonstop stream of profanity at himself and his ineptitude he made his way back to Vassal and Karan, his leg screaming the entire way.

Here, in the realm of the dead, the wound did not flow, but instead sublimated - strange purple and black hazes rose from the puncture. They found their way through the cracks in his own fingers, around the incomplete seal his stubby, tiny hands could afford him, and he felt himself become considerably weaker as he trudged through the plane as quickly as his body allowed him. Wounds here were amplified on his kind, as the spectral energies within him flowed easily out into the ether - far more easily than blood flowed from the living in their world.

By the time he'd returned to the alley Karan and Vassal were hiding in, Terrence had only enough energy to phase back into the world of the living, whereupon he promptly collapsed before the two. The trip through the world of the damned had wrought havoc upon his gunshot wound, the energies of unlife having flowed freely into their native plane. His breathing was ragged and he struggled out, "They...were prepared. Can't strike. Got shot. Xatu knows about...us." He reached out and grabbed Vassal's leg, his expression now pleading. "Help. Me."

With a groan of frustration, Vassal pulled a bottle filled with a clear liquid from his pocket and rolled the gengar over to inspect the wound. It had stopped smoking and was instead emitting a peculiar purple light that rose up out of it like smoke and spiraled into the air, dissipating gradually all the while. "Karan. Get it out."

The weavile knelt down next to Terrence and inspected the puncture. With a soft purr she extended a single clawed finger and dug it into the edges of the wound. Terrence clenched his eyes shut in pain and grit his teeth. With a sharp upwards yank, the embedded bullet popped out alongside considerable amounts of purple light and black smoke and a singular, pained shout of obscenity from Terrence.

Vassal unscrewed the cap on the potion and poured the contents into and around the wound. The light began to fade and the wound closed partially. Flesh grew back only so quickly - and spirits coalesced similarly.

Terrence groaned and sat up against an alley wall. "Now what? I've gone and blown our chances for now." As much as he disliked Vassal and Karan, they were the only way he'd be getting any closer to getting the King to live up to the end of his bargain. Until then, the visions would remain muddied and their meaning out of reach.

Vassal paced the alley before sighing. "The King will not see us back into his court without their demise." He pulled another potion from his pocket and tossed it at Terrence. "Lick your wounds. Karan and I shall come up with something while you do." He left the alley and called back over his shoulder, "Karan. We're off." The weavile flashed an evil grin at Terrence before following after Vassal.

The gengar sighed and rolled the potion bottle over in his hands, watching the liquids slosh back and forth. He grit his teeth, anger and self-loathing bubbling and churning over in his stomach and mixing with the throbbing pain in his leg; with a growl he uncapped the bottle and upended it over the wound.

"Have to move. Can't give the King a reason to string me along." Terrence got to his feet, unsteady and limped to the manhole cover nearby. He moved it aside by hand. "Can't phase. Not for long." A drawn out, pained sigh. "Maybe at all."

* * *

From the tag exploding to the gengar's disappearance, not more than twenty seconds elapsed. Ignace set his pistol on the table, and with an audible sigh signed to Ricard, "A gengar. Why am I not fucking surprised? More ghosts. And this one broke through the tag. How do you even fucking do that?"

Ricard set his pistol on the table and took a seat. "Sufficient strength of will." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Or poor tags."

Charles growled and let go of his head at last, his gait unsteady.

"Alright Charles?" asked Ignace. He gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder to the sound of an affirmative grunt. "Confuse ray's a bitch, eh?" With another grunt, this one almost embarrassed, Charles nodded and shrugged off Ignace's hand. He returned to his chair and took a bite from one of his liechi berries, a sullen look on his face.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, he caught you by surprise." Ignace sank into a chair and looked over at Ricard, making a note in his head to check on Charles in a few minutes after he had gotten a few minutes of sulking in, signing, "Never thought we'd get a chance to use these things." He pulled his pistol from the table and ran a finger along the suppressor before setting it back down and looking back to the accountant. Ricard smirked but signed nothing in reply. With a roll of his eyes, Ignace answered for him, "Thank you Ignace, it was a wonderful idea to have suggested we fix suppressors to our weapons if we intend to do work in enclosed, public spaces. They were in no way a wasted investment."

He responded to himself, "Oh, you're too kind Ricard, I agree, I sure am glad I pestered you into buying them."

At the sound of hoarse, quiet laughter coming from Ricard, Ignace stopped signing and chuckled. "It was an investment from over a year ago Ignace. The cost has long since been written off," he signed. Ricard took a sip from his now cold coffee and shook his head. "But I digress. Yes. It was a good idea. Illegal as it were." Their conversation lapsed into a discussion of further security enhancements they could place upon their apartment.

D'Artagnan, finding himself intensely uninterested in the discussion, took notice of Charles's sulking demeanor and lifted off his chair and then floated over to the brooding bisharp. His voice - his actual, "speaking" voice was low and throbbing. It was unmistakably akin to birdsong, yet at a pitch so low it was like a guitar with strings wound only _just_ tight enough to produce notes. **"Consider yourself lucky. A few more seconds and you'd have laid waste to that foul shade. I, on the other hand…"**

Charles turned to the xatu and took his time chewing his berry before swallowing and saying, his tone curt and voice like wet gravel, **"Was weak. Stupid and weak."** His fists clenched and he hung his head. **"Stupid. Weak. And slow."**

 **"Hardly. You were surprised, I'd wager, not weak. Not every day a ghost breaks through tags with an intent to kill,"** reasoned d'Artagnan. A low _coo_ hung in his throat. **"This shade is intelligent. You are aware, yes?"**

The bisharp contemplated the bowl of liechi berries for a moment before he turned to look at d'Artagnan and nodded. **"Went for me first."** His fists clenched and unclenched again, and then he popped another berry into his mouth and chewed it in contemplation. His eyes settled on the guns upon the table. **"Gunshots. Shade wasn't ready. Took hits."** He smirked. **"Idiot."**

D'Artagnan chuckled before saying, **"Blade, there is no sense sulking for any longer than your kind no doubt require you to. Lest some strange punishment befall you for not** ** _brooding_ ****enough."**

Charles rolled his eyes and flicked the back of d'Artagnan's head. Ignoring the indignant squawk he got in reply, he said, **"Bit stupid to do. Just wanted to help."**

 **"You already have. And the tapestry that reminds us all of the** **_obvious_ ** **says that you shall again, friend."**

Charles looked across at Ignace and smirked. **"Speaking of friends,"** he mumbled. The bisharp rose and crossed over to Ignace to slap him on the back. Incomprehensible growls met Ignace's ears, but the their tone and the self-assured grin on the pokemon's face were more than enough.

"Done actin' like a bitch? Alright," Ignace replied, the same self-assured grin on his own face, "let's go find that poor bastard." He rose from his chair and stretched before signing to Ricard, "Call up Lumiose Police. Time to use up your last favor."

* * *

"Do you have any other Pokemon registered under your ID number?"

"Just my skarmory and piloswine."

"Your ID _monsieur._ "

Johannes sighed and pulled his wallet from his pocket to fish out his ID. "Here you are officer." He had been taken into a Lumiose police station for further questioning and was told on his way to the station itself that he was rapidly losing status as a "person of interest" but was also potentially an invaluable source of information. Which is, of course, to say that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

The officer, Rousseau, thanked him and swiped the card through the computer in front of him. There was a loud beep and then the display in front of him lit up with information. "Hoenn-Sinnoh dual…" He began to mutter to himself and continued to scroll through the data. "One unaccounted."

Johannes's brow furrowed. "What do you mean officer?"

Rousseau drew his head away from the display. "17398217-2 and 17398217-3: a skarmory and piloswine. No associated number for her." He pointed at Viola.

"Sorry, one second." He turned to Viola and said, "You didn't leave your pouch back at the hotel did you?" The gardevoir tapped his nose.

 _"Worrywart."_ She pulled a pouch from her belt and handed it to him.

Johannes unzipped the pouch and pulled an ID card from it - it bore a smiling photo of Viola.

After running it through, the officer's eyes widened. " _Merde._ Region's been busy, hasn't it?" He didn't wait for a reply. "17398218/282-G. Ah, that explains the jump. Old designation was dash-one. Accounted for and associated with 17398217." He returned the IDs to Johannes. "Thank you _monsieur._ I will also require a means to contact you as I have been made aware that you will not be detained as a suspect, but may be contacted to provide further information that may assist us in our ongoing investigations."

The researcher sighed and handed the officer his C-Gear contact ID as well as the name and number of his hotel room.

"Thank you sir. Please, have a seat while we process the information. Could I interest you in some coffee?" Johannes shook his head and sat down at a row of chairs near the precinct's front desk to watch Rousseau work. Viola sat down beside him and dropped her head onto his shoulder.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ said a voice in his head morosely. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and ignoring the officers and their pokemon filtering in and out of the precinct.

Dull blues flickered in his head with those words and Johannes wrapped his arm around Viola and drew her closer to him. "What are you apologizing for?"

 _"For failing you."_ She wound an arm around his side. _"I did not expect an attacker in that alley. Much less a dusknoir."_

"Neither did I," mumbled Johannes. "So that makes two of us. Therefore, no need to apologize. Not your fault." His eyes scanned the precinct - everyone that rushed past them seemed distracted and some were positively haggard looking. He expected more confused stares but it seemed as if none of the officers streaking past even knew he nor Viola were there. Doors opened and shut, carts of folders being pushed about and policemen balancing stacks of papers all blurred past them.

Viola sat up proper and grasped one of Johanne's hands with both of hers. _"Johannes,"_ she began sadly, _"it is not so simple a thing as fault, it-"_

" _Monsieur?_ " called a voice, interrupting Viola. "Your information has been processed, if you could please follow Officer Leroy." Rousseau gestured to the woman standing before a glass-paned door to his right.

"Come on Viola," whispered Johannes, helping her up, "And what were you saying?"

The gardevoir shook her head. _"Afterwards, Johannes. You and I both should be focused if they intend to question you or I."_ The pensive, melancholy expression on her face told him quite clearly that the interruption bothered her deeply.

The two approached the waiting officer who gave them a curt nod and then ushered them inside. They were marched past still more glass paned doors and into an office with the name "Durand" stenciled on it. Leroy opened the door and gestured for them to enter. They complied, and found themselves in what they imagined was a detective's office. Bookshelves lined two of the walls and were filled to bursting with folders, stacks of papers, books, unusual knick-knacks, degrees, awards and accolades. Before them was a desk with two straight-backed chairs set in front of it.

"Durand will be here shortly," explained Leroy as the two sat down. She snapped the door shut behind her and went to stand next to Durand's desk. It was just as cluttered as the bookshelves and had a considerably larger quantity of papers upon it, many stacked just a _bit_ too high for Johannes. It reminded him of Eric's desk back in university during midterms and finals.

The minutes stretched out before the three and after what Johannes swore was a fifteen minute long lapse of total silence the door swung open and a scruffy, unshaven and yawning man strode into the room. "Thanks Isabelle," he said, turning to nod to her as he passed by, "You're good."

Isabelle gave him a nod and exited the room, closing the door behind her with a soft _snap_.

"Right, so," said Durand, his tone brisk and clashing with the dark circles under his eyes, "Johannes Talburn." He looked down at the printout in his hands and scanned it. "And Viola."

The gardevoir made an indistinct noise in her throat. A brief flash of red sprung to life in Johannes's head. He glanced over at her and then back at Durand.

"Talburn," he said quietly.

Durand looked up from the file for an instant and then dropped his eyes back to it. "Yes, sure, whatever you say _monsieur_ Talburn. Then, may I ask who is giving this account about what happened, you or _madame_ Talburn over here?"

"I am," replied Johannes.

The detective nodded and pulled a thin, short device from his desk. He pressed a white button on it and then a red one and set the device down on the one patch of his desk that wasn't covered in clutter; a single, blinking red light greeted the couple. "Very well. From the very beginning. Speak loudly and clearly." He leaned back in his chair and pulled a notepad and pen from another drawer. "Begin."

* * *

Rousseau glanced over at the display to his right and scanned the number attached to an incoming video call. He closed his eyes and sighed. He rose and tapped the "Accept Call" button with a finger. He took a breath and then looked at the display at the smiling visage of Ricard.

"Pierre Rousseau. It's been too long," signed Ricard.

"Grimaud. What a surprise. I was beginning to become hopeful that you'd actually decided against ever calling in again," he signed back the officer. "What do you need from me now? And I hope you remember what I told you the last time."

Ricard rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember," he signed back, his motions somewhat agitated, "This is indeed the last time I'll call on you. I was right to hold onto this favor too, it's a rather large one."

Pierre groaned aloud before looking about to see if anyone was watching. "Does it really have to be? Come on Ricard, why can't they be something simple like a name?"

"A name is part of it. I need to know the name of and how to contact the individual you took in that was being chased by a dusknoir earlier. I'm not sure if he was taken into your precinct or not."

"You're in luck, he was, but Ricard, please...he's not even a suspect, let alone a criminal, what could you possibly need that for?"

The accountant looked unimpressed. "Do you really want to know?"

Pierre hung his head and sighed. "No. I guess I don't," he signed after a pause. "Last time. Call again, I'm hanging up on you. Call enough and we're putting out a warrant for your arrest."

Ricard smirked. "Arrest? Over what?"

"Insistent annoyance of law enforcement. Do you have a pen and paper handy?" asked Pierre. The accountant nodded. "Good."

* * *

The questions did not dig much deeper than those that Moreau had asked him outside of the confectioner's shop, and Johannes could not help shake the feeling that all the police had really done was waste his time. Perhaps they were well-meaning, but it was a wasted day had been kind enough to give him and Viola a cab back to their hotel (where Viola had insisted they return) at the very least.

The car ride back to the hotel was as silent as the walk up into the hotel, the elevator ride up to their floor and their arrival at their room. Johannes slid his keycard through the reader on the door and said aloud, "So what were you saying Viola? Now that we're away from prying eyes?" He pushed the door open to their suite and ushered her in before closing the behind him.

Viola sunk against the wall that divided the entryway and the kitchenette, arms crossed, and said in his head to a chorus of blues, _"My worrying, your ideas about fault, all of it - that isn't how it works Johannes. I can't help but feel it. It is a_ compulsion. _"_ She felt a hand lift her chin up so she was looking Johannes in the eyes.

"If that's the case-" he began.

"Sorry to say that I'm not one for voyeurism. Especially not this kind." The two turned in alarm as a black-haired man with serious, thin grey eyes stared them down. He had strode out from the other room and looked between the two before calling out, "Charles."

A bisharp appeared from the closet in the entryway and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. Viola and Johannes turned between the pokemon and the strange man in their hotel room and drew closer together.

"What do you want?" asked the researcher, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

"I want your help, Johannes.


	8. Chapter 8

The silence that hung in the room on those words was palpable. _I want your help Johannes_. How did he know him? The researcher's mind was racing. Did something happen with the investigation that he wasn't aware of? How had they beaten him to his hotel room?

The grey-eyed man watched him, his expression unreadable and then, after a long stare, turned about and sat himself down in an armchair. "Have a seat, please." He gestured to the loveseat that sat across him.

Johannes and Viola both turned their heads to watch the bisharp that stood, arms crossed and expression severe, before the front door. They turned back to focus on the stranger and made their way to their seats slowly. As Johannes sat, he said, an edge in his voice, "Who _are_ you?"

Ignace leaned back in his chair and sighed. "A detective. My name is Ignace Coquin." His eyes flickered between the two, his expression still neutral, though Johannes swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch for just an instant. "A _private_ detective, I should say. I'm here to ask you some questions and then be on my way."

"I've already told the Lumiose Police everything I know," replied Johannes. He leaned forward and looked Ignace in the eyes. "Why don't you go ask them instead?"

"Because they would never tell me the whole story. Or any of the story really." He pressed the tips of his fingers together and spread them apart. "Did _you_ tell them the whole story?"

"Yes. I don't have any reason to lie to law enforcement."

" _Nor would Johannes ever want to_ ," said a cold voice in Ignace's head. He shifted his gaze to Viola. " _Neither he nor I are interested in withholding any information that would help the proper authorities. You, however, do not represent such a body. You are independent."_ The gardevoir's eyes flashed. " _You are rogue._ "

Ignace rolled his eyes and stood up to pace the room. "Of course. Psychics and their _all-knowing_ ways." He stopped pacing for a moment and pulled a small card from the inside of his jacket and flicked it expertly at Viola. Before either of the couple could blink, the card had sailed across the room and hit Viola's forehead. It hadn't even finished settling before Ignace picked it up off Viola's lap. " _Or not_. Either way, I need that information. A client is in rather desperate need of having this entire issue put to rest. These murders, as you can imagine, aren't good for anyone in Lumiose. Especially not you two." He strode away from the two again sighed. It was an outright lie - there was no client. But Ignace was nothing if not accustomed to lying. "Believe me."

"What's so special about us?" shot back Johannes. "We're tourists. We're not even involved."

"I hope you're not involved. But I won't know unless you tell me what happened." He turned around and looked back at the couple. "And if you want to know what's so special about you two - nothing other than you both being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lots of people saw you getting chased by that dusknoir." He dug his hands into his pockets and glanced around the room. "Dusknoir aren't exactly a common pokemon here in the city. Owned or otherwise."

" _Whether or not they are common is hardly of consequence to us. What does bringing this point up serve?_ "

"It serves to remind you that ghosts don't go around doing shit for no reason." His composure cracked slightly and Ignace let out a long sigh before he continued. "Dusknoir are rumored to ferry the dead onto the afterlife. I don't think you happened upon a dusknoir in the middle of the road and it gave chase because you called it fat." He locked eyes with Johannes. "Or is this all one big misunderstanding and the police are sad that they even questioned you in the first place?"

The stare Ignace gave him was unsettling. The detective clearly knew far more than he was letting on - perhaps even the entire story. But he wanted the account direct from him, thought Johannes. He wanted to hear it from the witnesses themselves.

"If I give you this account, will you leave my wife and I alone?" said Johannes seriously.

Ignace sat on the arm of the chair and nodded. "I should."

" _Should?_ "

"No promises. If this dusknoir has the wrong idea about you, well, nothing you can do about stopping a haunting like that. Not without something a bit better than a psychic-type." His eyes drifted to Viola for a moment. "Especially one that doesn't seem to have precognition. Bit strange I think. Any reason for it?"

" _I have devoted my life to communication and understanding humans."_

Ignace forced himself not to laugh. "I see."

Viola frowned and continued, " _My skill lies deeply in my attunement to and understanding of human emotion and human language. I have been more than negligent of my combat abilities and, yes, my prescience."_ She hesitated, then continued, the tones in Johannes's head, though not Ignace's, laced with embarrassment. " _I am not entirely without the ability, but it is enormously reduced. I can see no further than perhaps a second or so ahead."_ She fidgeted in her seat and wrung her hands. Her eyes darted about the room and she continued to turn around every few minutes to glimpse at Charles with worry. " _I have done all I can to block these flashes of insight from my conscious. I find them, brief as they are, to spoil the magical wonder of life."_ She turned to Johannes and stared determinedly at him for a moment. " _And love._ " At that, she began to fidget and shift in her seat again, and her eyes began their dance across the entire room and each face anew.

Johannes grasped Viola's hand and continued: "Viola's interests don't lie in fighting, Detective Coquin. I think that much is clear."

Strange folk, these pokephiles, he thought privately. The times he'd encountered them in the _rouge_ usually left a less than savory impression of their moral character, but these two were a bit different. Deviance, that was undeniably there, but there wasn't the pulsing undercurrent of drugs, alcohol and depravity that usually accompanied it. _Crazy Sinnoh_ indeed, it would seem. "I need the account either way. I told you, I _shouldn't_ bother you again, but if it so happens that this ghost has a vendetta against you, then you're going to need some help, and I happen to be able to provide that."

Viola wriggled her hand away from Johannes's grip and stood, her mouth agape and body tense. " _What do you mean 'a vendetta'?"_

"Exactly what you think that means," he replied gravely. "The dusknoir could be interested in coming after you, or not, I don't know, I need that information. Gods know the police didn't provide much in the way of answers."

Viola had moved herself between Johannes and Ignace, her face wild with worry. " _What purpose does a dusknoir have for assaulting Johannes?"_

"I don't know, that's why I need - whoa, whoa!" Ignace began to rise into the air, a faint purple glow surrounding his body.

" _I was taken by surprise once, I won't allow it again! Answer me!"_ shouted the cold voice in his head.

Sight unseen, Charles had strode up to the threshold of living room and had raised his arms, a swirling vortex of dark energy focusing into the blades upon his forearms and his face set into a snarl. Ignace caught his eyes and gave the bisharp a meaningful look, his head shaking slightly. Charles lowered his arms somewhat but nevertheless remained wary and poised to strike.

With a wince, Ignace rubbed his temples and looked down at the ground. Not more than a few inches. The glow around her hands was dim and her breathing was heavy. She was mad - and exerting herself.

"Put me down," he said calmly. "Now. You're wasting energy and you wouldn't last a second against Charles." The gardevoir turned to look over her shoulder and saw the bisharp eyeing her, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. She felt a hand at her hip and the anger in her began to wither away into deep worry.

Ignace touched back down again and the glow around him and Viola alike faded. "Thank you." He adjusted his jacket. "For seeing reason. To answer your question: _again, I do not know._ Give me your accounts and I will see if that answer changes."

Johannes patted Viola's side, still seated. "Sit down, please. We'll tell him what's going on and then this'll be over with."

" _We don't know that Johannes. This could be just the beginning."_

"Then I'd rather we know that at least someone is looking out for us." He paused and leaned out from behind Viola's slender frame. "Right? If this dusknoir is after us...you can help right?"

Ignace turned his gaze to the floor and traced the geometric shapes the patterns on the carpet created. He chewed on his tongue for a minute before saying at last, "I think I can. I'll explain further after you tell me what happened." At the look upon Viola's face he added, "It's...complicated. Trust me."

The patting on her hip was more insistent. With a sigh, she relented and sat back down. " _For now._ "

"Excellent. Then, Johannes, if you would please?" Ignace dug a small black device from his pocket and clicked a red button. An equally red light sprang to life on the end of the recorder and he pointed it at the researcher.

Johannes sighed and launched into a similar explanation he'd given the police. However, the moment he mentioned that Viola had fallen unconscious Ignace cut across him.

"Why did you fall unconscious Viola?" Ignace asked her.

" _Something dreadful hung in the air in that alley. It felt as if it was soaking into my body."_ A shiver ran down her slender frame. " _Soaking into my very soul."_

A curious growling filled the air, harsh and gravelly. Content that the gardevoir would not step out of line again, Charles had taken to leaning against nearby wall, his arms crossed and his face impassive. " **Ghosts. Never good,"** he said shortly. The other three all turned to look at Charles. Confusion, amusement, and worry etched themselves upon the faces of Johannes, Ignace and Viola respectively.

" **Excuse me?"** replied Viola, turning her head to look over at the bisharp.

It was the first time he'd heard her speak aloud in quite some time, though Johannes knew that she never exactly _forgot_ how to speak this strange tongue. He was sure that she spoke it whenever she went to her art classes, when she spoke to those pokemon friends of hers. He forced down a chuckle. He vaguely remembered her even lapsing into a short burst of it in frustration. Like the "voice" in his head, her voice was like strange music notes, not unlike a chime that rings and fades into the throes of pleasant insubstantiality right as it hits the ear.

Charles waved a hand dismissively. " **Know your kind. Soft."** He shifted his shoulders and rolled his neck. " **Fall to ghosts. To blades."**

With a frown on her face, Viola crossed her arms and turned to look at Charles. " **If this is your means of trying to help the conversation along, you're doing a miserable job of it."**

The strange, harsh laughter unique to Charles rang out in the room. " **Continue story. Won't interrupt."**

Viola turned from Charles with a huff and, her face twisted into a sharp frown, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. " _As your bisharp noted, my kind - psychics, are rather sensitive to ghost energies. My line specifically are bothered more than others by negative emotional energy concentrations."_

Johannes's eyes widened. "There was _that_ much in that alley? How did you not notice it at first?" he interjected.

" _The dusknoir had to be in some other location, I am not sure. The alley did not have anything particularly amiss in it except… Something faint."_ She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

" _Emotion is gleaned easily enough from those around me. It is easier if I am close - physically and emotionally - to the subject, but those I am unfamiliar with will still register, although less intensely. I sensed something else in the alley with us before the dusknoir appeared. It was faint. Despair, I think."_ Viola paused as a look of embarrassment spread across her face and she refused to look in anyone's eyes.. " _I pushed it from my mind because I was...distracted."_

Ignace cut in. "Johannes, is there anything that might have been radiating despair, as she called it?"

Johannes shrugged. "You tell me. There was a weird corpse involved, I remember that. Let me explain…" He detailed the strange speech the dusknoir gave him and noticed Ignace shifted in his seat uncomfortably at the mention of "dawnsouls" and "dusksouls." He stopped him again when he brought up the corpse the dusknoir pulled out of the dumpster.

"Chest was torn open, it was covered in strange burns and it was smoking - and the smoke was making strange shapes and spirals?" Ignace repeated - the researcher nodded. "Pretty observant of you. I'm surprised you remembered that in the middle of life-threatening panic."

Johannes shrugged. "Being a behavioral researcher means you have to try pick up on the small stuff. Honestly, I didn't remember that dawnsoul/dusksoul detail until just now...Guess it's because I've had to explain the events so many times over I've finally started unpacking it properly." He paused and gave Ignace a slightly embarrassed smile. "And I've had practice with picking up on small stuff." Like everything he'd ever had to learn about Viola ever, he thought.

"Sounds like ghost energy damage alright. Hrm." Ignace tapped his chin. His hypothesis about the dusknoir being involved, or at least _one_ dusknoir being involved in what was going on was possibly confirmed. He couldn't discount the gengar that had just attacked them however. It was only a possibility. "Anyway, please, continue."

Johannes finished his retelling of the events, noting that he was struck in the leg with a shadow ball and suffered a wound similar to those the corpse bore. There was a short pause before he added, "Why did it want to kill me?"

Ignace sighed and drummed his fingers on the armchair rests. "Because it, if it's the same dusknoir, wanted to do the same to me." He looked away and sighed. "I can't tell you why...or at least my best guess at it, unless you agree to help. And I don't think you're interested in getting involved." Ignace sat back in his seat and contemplated the couple. Fuck it, he thought. "I need your help."

There was a long pause before a cold voice said, " _No. I will not needlessly risk Johannes's life."_

The detective ran a hand through his short-cut hair and sighed. "I - we," he said, gesturing between himself and Charles, "All of Lumiose really, could use your help. You could help pinpoint zones of concentrated ghost energy and other strong emotions. That's invaluable. We could have...a fair few things we need done out of our hair much faster if you helped."

Sight unseen, d'Artagnan and Ricard sat in an adjacent room, ready to respond to any signs of violence or worse - intrusions from one of their stalkers. At this, however, Ricard looked down at d'Artagnan incredulously. The xatu had been feeding a nonstop stream of the dialogue between Ignace and Johannes to Ricard - whenever Viola communicated telepathically, however, he could offer precious little. "What on earth is Ignace doing? He was to get information from them, not recruit them to help," he signed to his friend.

d'Artagnan flapped his wings in agitation. " _I am afraid I have nothing to offer you, Merchant. The Mortician appears to have made a decision without us. I wonder if his Blade is as bewildered as we now stand."_

Viola stood. " _Absolutely. Not. This is not negotiable. I refuse to put Johannes into such danger again. Do you understand?"_ The cold tone in his head dripped with something. There on the edges, creeping into the words: venom.

"Viola, please, be reasonable," implored Johannes. She turned to look at him, a wild flame alive in her eyes. He recoiled slightly. He was not particularly keen on helping Ignace - but the gravity of the situation, the involvement of ghosts with legends and myths as sinister as dusknoir in his life made him uneasy. The feeling of being sucked down a drain had settled into his stomach and he feared trying to run would only bring him and Viola to ruin.

" _Reasonable? A dusknoir chases us halfway across the city, knocks this one unconscious with its mere presence and nearly kills you, and you are asking for_ reason _?"_ she asked Johannes in a terrifyingly neutral tone.

The researcher sighed and stood, his arms outstretched. "Viola, please, let's at least hear him out - if all he needs us for is to find these spots I'd imagine he'd be with us to help. Bisharp are dark-types, they'd be able to deal with a dusknoir-"

" _ABSOLUTELY. NOT._ " Viola stamped a pointed leg as a peculiar purple glow began to flicker around her body. The seat cushions adorning the couches began to rise up and shake and Ignace noticed his own armchair was vibrating slightly.

She doesn't have the strength for it, he reasoned. "Viola, Johannes is right. Charles and I do the heavy lifting, but I can't really go out and just ask a different psychic type to go out and do this - believe me, if I could, I would have by now."

" _Why us? There are countless of this one's line out in the city - any one of them could just as easily assist you."_ The glow about her body began to coalesce and darken.

Johannes put a hand onto Viola's shoulder but she shrugged it immediately away and stepped towards Ignace. Out of the corner of his eyes, the detective noticed his bisharp stand up from the wall, his face twisting into a grimace. He gave the smallest of head shakes before turning back to look at Viola. "I won't pretend there isn't any danger involved, but a detective doesn't simply go out and ask the public - especially tourists - for help on something unless he's desperate. You're already involved in the case, if you look at from my perspective. The dusknoir knows who you are, you know what its presence feels like, what to look for - you could help find corpses. Please consider it, I know how you feel about possibly losing your-"

" _How I feel? How_ _ **I**_ _feel? I will_ _ **show**_ _you how I feel and then we shall see if you think it so easy to simply let your husband walk willingly to his death."_

It was a sound he hadn't heard in quite some time. The strange and dissonant notes her voice produced when she was enraged. He felt his ears prickle - mixed in were the unmistakable and equally rare notes of sorrow and fear. But what Viola did next is what threw Johannes into immediate panic.

The gardevoir launched herself at Ignace and grabbed hold of his head. He saw her eyes flash a blinding red and then the room disappeared.

_Something was rooting about his head. It felt like a person sprinting across the ether of his thoughts, leaving puddles of anger, despair, paranoia and fear with each step. They rippled, like puddles in the rain and began to overflow into each other. He felt himself flip upside in his own head as the unseen figure upended his mind and began to pull emotions themselves out of the darkness - and with it, memories. Vivid images of Ana began to blink into life and flow into each other - one moment she was crying, howling in the dark, the next she was screaming at Ignace and then then she was running. A half-formed image, Ana's naked back and a sunset casting her in shadow, appeared for an instant before it dissipated. A howl of rage exploded in his head._

_The memories came faster and then he saw it - an alley, Ana laying in the center, sobbing, clutching her head. Ignace lifted his head off the ground, warm blood running down his face and his chest alive with the flames only stab wounds could leave. Bodies began to approach Ana as Jeannette stood before them, defiant to the end, a freshly evolved banette. He glanced about for his pistol and saw it lying useless several feet away near Charles. The pawniard lifted its head and let out a fierce growl. He heard a figure laugh and turn to stomp the pokemon's face into the ground when it began to glow a brilliant white. The scene evaporated and he heard another howl. This time, pained._

_This time, sorrowful._

_He caught a glimpse of the inside of a Ranger office - of Johannes and his defeated expression and then there was nothing but white._

He no longer felt Viola's strange hands upon his face and whatever she'd done to invade his thoughts and memories had passed. He doubled over and dug his face into his hands, fighting down a horrendous urge to sob that had suddenly gripped him. A strange combination of bitter and sorrowful tears burned in eyes. He wiped his eyes and looked up at the room. Viola lay on the ground, chest heaving and face thoroughly flushed. Johannes stood above her, his hands raised at Charles - _and at Ricard and d'Artagnan._

"Skitty's out of the fuckin' bag," mumbled Ignace. He caught a sob in his throat and turned it into a growl. He slapped his face and then stood. "I'm sorry Viola, I think I understand a bit better what it is you have to lose." He took a breath and then added curtly, "And I think so do you."

Johannes helped her to her feet. " _Perhaps._ " The cold voice in Ignace's head was meek - maybe even defeated. She threw Charles a furtive look - the bisharp was rubbing its gauntleted knuckles and glaring at her.

" **I'm sorry,"** she said, bowing her head. It was a nearly unforgivable breach of privacy - and it was usually reserved for far more pleasant uses, specifically with Johannes. Images of the strange woman, her crazed eyes and desperate cries flashed in her head and sent a shiver down her spine. Ignace knew how she felt. He knew it _intimately_. She glanced at Johannes and down at the wound on his thigh, wrapped in gauze. Ignace knew the taste of failure and the cold oblivion of failing one's only purpose.

Charles growled and then turned to look at Ignace - his friend nodded. " **Forgiven."** He took a step towards her and added, " **Do not. Do that. Again."** He rolled his neck again and added, " **Will be more than a shove next time."**

She nodded and then beckoned Johannes to sit next to her and then turned her attention to Ricard and d'Artagnan. " _And you two are?_ "

" _I am d'Artagnan. The Conduit. Through my body flows the shadowed tapestry of the King's prophecy. We are wrinkles upon the cloth - we are the revolutionaries that seek to impede his rise."_ The air of smugness that radiated from this statement was palpable, and so Johannes found himself laughing - even Viola managed to crack a small smile - when Ignace said shortly,

"He's a shitty crystal ball."

d'Artagnan let out an indignant squawk before continuing, " _And my friend here is the Merchant, Ricard."_ Ricard bowed to Johannes and Viola.

" _Enchanté,"_ he signed to them. d'Artagnan relayed it to them.

"Ricard is deaf and mute, so you'll have to work a fair bit through myself and d'Artagnan to hold a conversation, Johannes. Viola will have it a fair bit easier though," explained Ignace, both speaking and signing.

" _Strange circumstances that we find ourselves meeting,"_ said Viola to both Ricard and d'Artagnan.

Ricard shivered - her voice was like ice in his head, bearing none of the usual class and warmth that d'Artagnan's did. He hardly knew her, he reasoned, d'Artagnan was a similar case at first. He nodded at her and looked meaningfully at d'Artagnan, signing, "Indeed. We hardly expected help."

" _Ricard is quite right. We did not expect the Mortician here to ask the two of your for your assistance. It was...unorthodox."_ The xatu stared at Ignace before clicking its beak. " _Nevertheless, your help is appreciated - should you choose to offer it._ "

Charles growled, and all eyes in the room turned to him. " **Need** _ **our**_ **help."** He pointed at Viola, his entire gauntleted hand leveled in her direction. " **Know your kind. Soft. Emotional. Can't cope with hatred, sorrow and rage from the dead."** Viola's eyes widened. " **Soaks into bone. Soaks into soul. Overwhelms you."** He pointed at his chest, gesturing where the red heart piece that jutted from Viola's chest would be. " **No matter what. Soaks in. Can't stop it."** He raised his forearms towards her, showcasing the blades upon them. " **Can't handle cold iron. Sharp steel. Clashing blades."** He crossed his arms again. " **Ghosts too. Fall to dark. Bleed smoke and fire - but bleed just the same."**

" **You think we need your help?"** asked Viola - she was uneasy, but not at all enamored with helping them and endangering Johannes - yet it seemed they had all come to the understanding that she was compliant, and that Johannes was too.

" **Don't think."** Charles smirked. " **Know.** " He approached her - he ignored the sharp warning Ignace gave him and stopped in front of Viola, who stared back at him, eyes defiant. " **Soft. But helpful. Can help us all.** " He held out a hand.

" **The Blade extends his hand. Curious. I would take it, Embrace. You and the Errant alike could do with our protection.** " The two turned to d'Artagnan and then locked eyes again.

Viola considered Charles's hand and then looked at d'Artagnan. " **Embrace? Errant?"**

" **So do the curious writings upon this tapestry name you."** The xatu flapped several times, fluffing his feathers and then clicked his beak.

" **I- I can't. I will not put Johannes in danger,"** replied Viola. She looked at Charles and then hung her head. The bisharp stared back and then looked over his shoulder at Ignace.

Ignace stood and began to pace. The professionalism in his tone dissipated, replaced instead with his usual crass speech: "There's a fuckin' maniac on the loose. This murder is not an isolated case, as I'm sure the police have told you. Hell, there may be several maniacs with one boss. Maybe angry ghosts.

"Worse still is there's magic involved, ghost-energy or some shit. You've seen police are going to _have_ to do something about these murders soon. It's only a matter of time before they hit a tourist hotspot. This _King_ d'Artagnan mentioned is doing something terrible. We're trying to sort this shit now, while the panic is at a minimum and moving around getting shit done is still feasible."

" _But what exactly is happening?_ " insisted Viola.

Ignace ignored the question, and instead made his way to the curtained window in the hotel room and drew them back. He turned about and leaned against the window. "That is exactly why I need your help. Nothing like an emotional dowsing rod that can talk, to help us find more corpses - maybe more dusknoir. _More zones of concentrated negative energies._." He leaned his head against the window and tapped it against the glass. "And who better to help Ricard and I figure this shit out than a behavioral fucking researcher."

He stood up proper and looked them in the eyes. "We've argued enough already, and I have shit to do. If you want the information then you'll have to agree to help - there's no point in sharing information that sensitive and potentially dangerous with you if you're just going to cut and run.

"So are you gonna help, or are you boarding the next ship outta here? I'll be frank: you're probably in just as much danger trying to run from this thing as you are helping us. So you can take this head-on or you can let it chase your heels."

Johannes looked at Viola then down at Charles's outstretched hand, then back at his wife. "Viola?" The gardevoir doubled over and clutched her chest. Hot tears burned in her eyes. Johannes wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. "Viola, it's alright…"

Danger was approaching from all sides. They were running headlong into it, running from it, waiting patiently for their ends - no matter what approach she considered, the paranoia clutching her soul was all-consuming. All roads led straight to a cliff's edge and beckoned her to jump, and to bring Johannes down with her. The knot in her chest twisted and writhed, tightening until she could hardly draw breath, until it felt as if her chest would collapse and the strange red wedge driven through her would shatter. The guardian was insistent - a burning, immediate, commanding pain that shouted protest throughout her entire body like a thousand white hot knives.

She clasped Charles's hand with both of hers and began to sob, defeated. The thorny knot in her chest tightened ever so slightly as she whispered, " **We'll help."**


	9. Chapter 9

Viola degenerated into a strangled weeping - at this, Ignace excused himself from the room and allowed the gardevoir time to compose herself.

Johannes pulled her into his chest and laid back into the couch, sighing. "We'll be fine Viola," he said quietly. With an anguished cry, she sobbed harder into his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. He embraced her and buried his face into the crown of her head.

" _Will we really Johannes? You could...you -"_ The voice in his head degenerated into quavering tones of despair. He felt her arms clutch him tighter as her sobs intensified. He reached down and felt along the sides of her face for one of the unusual spikes that protruded from it and ran his thumb and forefinger along the largest of the three.

"I'm going to provide, you know, information and stuff to them, not actually fight. You heard Ignace, he could use your skills and my own," he explained. He pushed her gently away from him, enough to free her face from his chest and brought a hand down to tilt it up towards his. He wiped tears from her cheeks tenderly and brushed aside her characteristic bangs to reveal her forehead and kissed it, adding, "I'll do what I can to stay safe and alive. I'm not in the business of dying." He rubbed a thumb against her cheek and added, "And you do the same. You're not about to take any risks that'll get you killed for my sake."

Viola pressed past his hands and buried her face in his chest again. Whatever her response was, he couldn't understand it, as she had said something in that peculiar tongue of hers instead of telepathically.

* * *

In the adjacent room, Ignace watched the two, his expression unreadable. At last, d'Artagnan spoke, " _It would seem the Embrace has made a rather painful decision._ "

"Yes, but she's decided to help is what matters. So I owe them an explanation about everything that's going on now." He heaved a sigh and peeked through a crack in the door. The two seemed to be sitting up properly and Johannes was speaking to her in hushed tones. He threw the door to the room open, signing to Ricard and d'Artagnan, "I'll know if this was a bad decision or not soon enough I guess."

The detective strode over to the two and stood before them. Johannes and Viola turned their attention to him - Viola's gaze was particularly hard and accented further by her red-rimmed eyes. Ignace rocked on his heels for a minute before he sighed and pulled a pokeball from his belt and began to toss it back and forth between his hands. "First things first, before I explain anything else, you have to know this: Lumiose is nothing like Sinnoh."

"I've noticed," replied the researcher. "What does this have to do-"

"You're not in a place where this sort of thing is common. Or accepted." Ignace paused and considered the ball in his hand before hooking it back onto his belt and then gestured at the couple, pointing back and forth between them. "Not in the way you're used to anyway." He leaned against the back of the armchair and chuckled. "Sinnohans, pokephiles and regular old tourists alike… they all flock to Lumiose, stars in their eyes just like any other. Then reality sets in. Don't walk the _rouge._ " He pointed at Viola. "Bad idea with her around. If we have to walk it, you keep her close and you keep her safe. With any luck we'll only be checking the sewers beneath it." The gardevoir crossed her arms and pouted, the beginnings of protest erupting to life in his head in her cold voice. "Don't gimme that look celery-stalk," he said, cutting across her. "You wanna fit in? Drop the ring and ball. Ball especially. Doesn't mean what you think it means in _Illumis._ "

" _I'd appreciate you not calling me a celery-stalk,"_ replied Viola telepathically. A dangerous glow sparked to life in her red-rimmed eyes.

"Duly noted. Either way, you're not going more than ten seconds in the _rouge_ if you're dressed like you belong there. Ball on your waist isn't a sign of freedom. It's a sign that you're for sale."

At this, the glow died, replaced instead with a look of mild worry and faint embarrassment. " _I...I see._ "

Johannes pulled Viola closer to him and threw an arm around her. "What does _quartier rouge_ even mean?" he asked. "I mean literally. I figure it's-"

"Whores." interrupted Ignace. " _Quartier rouge_ \- the red light district. The red quarter. Open legs and tangled sheets. The pussy _fucking_ pavilion." He crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. With a sigh, Ignace continued, "Or dick if that's your angle. And everything that comes with both of those. Clubs, strip joints, and enough for your stomach, nose and veins to keep you loaded from sundown to sunup. A dream for the sex-starved of every stripe." He got up from the chair and turned around to head to the window. He drew the curtains back and looked out at the city.

"It's one of the reasons Lumiose is such a tourist hot spot. More than good coffee and pastries here. More than art museums and scenic locales. We've got a _quartier rouge_ so degenerate it'd make a Sinnohan blush." He paused and turn back to the couple and gave them a sheepish grin. "Sorry, bad turn of phrase to use there."

Ricard strode into the room and signed, "Perhaps it would have been better to say that _Illumis_ might make a Kantoan blush instead." D'Artagnan relayed the message to Johannes and Viola amid the low throbs of his own wispy laughter.

Viola inclined her head, ignoring the laughter and ribbing. " _I see. I shall keep what you've said in mind. Now if you could…?"_

Ignace sighed. "Right, right, let's start from the top." From beginning to end, the looks of horror etched upon the couple's faces became deeper and more defined, at times turning to disgust for brief periods in the tale, before settling back into abject fear.

" _This...this is what we have to stand against? Some shrouded entity of unknowable power? Why on earth are we throwing ourselves to the mercy of that unknown?_ " asked Viola. The coldness of her voice in Ignace's head had assumed a wavering, unsure quality for a brief moment. The fear ran deep.

"I'm a gods damned detective, Viola," said Ignace dispassionately, "Mucking about in the unknown and terrifying is requirement number two, right under 'solve mysteries'." What did you really expect, for me to have all the answers we need right away?"

Viola wrung her hands and scooted closer to Ignace. " _I am less than confident in my ability to assist in combating this so-called King and the pokemon he has surrounded himself with."_

"If he even has," muttered Johannes. "This isn't nearly as much information as I was expecting, I'll be honest." He paused and shivered. "I think that makes it _worse_. What do you know for sure?"

"The dusknoir is probably not a free agent, but also not working for the king. Far as I can tell it seems pretty interested in showing up wherever these bodies that are missing hearts are, but why, we don't quite know. Based on what I've heard and what you've told me, it doesn't seem too hot on the King, but it makes me wonder why it hasn't done anything to the King to try to stop him unless the dusknoir also had no idea where he is. Which I'm guessing is probably the case. The King also has to be hiding somewhere that's going to be really hard to get to. I doubt he's living the high life but we can't rule it out." He looked to Charles who stared back, before continuing. "We know he's got some strange kind of castle on the other side of the veil, but we're not sure how that relates to the physical world outside of the tower here in Lumiose. Might be hiding in the sewers underneath it, even. We have to check the sewers again for another heart, come to think."

"Across the veil?" asked Ignace.

"The spirit world. That's...that's an entirely different subject. Too in depth until we find another's reaper's cloth. If we even find one," replied Ignace, waving the comment off. "Point is, we have to look around for hearts in the sewers. At the very least." Ignace did his best to push the idea of crawling through still more access tunnels from his mind. In due time he'd face the closing walls again. "But I'd like you two to come with me. If the body can leave a faint aura of negative emotional energy, imagine what the heart can do."

Johannes folded his arms and furrowed his brow. "We had our theories back in Celestic about this stuff, but we didn't really expect a heart to _actually_ act like, you know, the romantic, figurative notion of a heart." He looked at Viola for a moment before turning back to Ignace, and adding, "Are you saying that human hearts really hold emotional energy in them?"

Ignace shrugged. "I'm not saying anything, I'm guessing. For all I know Viola could be about as useful to us down there as tits on a turtwig. But it's worth bringing her along anyway just in case. Same with you." He pointed at Johannes. "If a dusknoir shows up we need to know why the fuck it's doing what it's doing there."

Johannes looked grimly back at Ignace before inclining his head. "Alright. Let me give you my Xtransceiver code so you can give me a ring when you need me."

Ignace jotted the code down and stood. "Let's get going Charles." He turned to Ricard and signed, "Let's leave them be. I've got some preparations to make. We'll be spending quite a bit of time plumbing the sewers in a few days."

Ricard raised an eyebrow and signed back, "A few days? Why the delay?" He glanced at Viola, at her puffy eyes and tear-streaked face. "Unless...don't tell me Ignace, you actually feel sorry for her? I would have imagined you'd be champing at the bit to continue your investigation."

Ignace glanced at Viola as well, and then at Johannes before signing back to Ricard, "I've got my reasons. That's only one of them. They're not properly prepared to fight. And judging from how she's been acting, I don't think she'll be great shakes in a fight anyway. Not without some help."

The deaf-mute crossed his arms and stared back at the detective, pensive.

"You mind putting something on my tab?" signed Ignace.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that one Ignace. What do you have in mind?" replied the accountant.

"Something that'll give them an edge if shit hits the fan. Long enough for us to stabilize the situation anyway. Or go down fighting."

Ricard threw one final glance at Viola and Johannes and then pulled his wallet and a transceiver with a card slide attached to it from his pocket. "How much?"

Johannes interrupted their exchange, and the two men turned to look at him. "What on earth are you two signing to each other?"

Ignace grinned. "I need you to go buy something Johannes. As a show of good faith, we're going to pay for it."

Johannes felt a three fingered hand clutch at his chest and heard an indistinct, worried noise rise in Viola's throat.

* * *

Ricard sat down in his office and booted up his computer with a sigh. The demands of his own accounting work did not cease in the wake of this strange case and the odd events that surrounded it. Ignace had been keen to part ways with him on their way back to the apartment complex, mumbling something vague about getting a coffee and perhaps a snack of some kind before returning. At the possible prospect of a liechi berry tart, Charles was altogether too happy to agree to the idea as well.

He drummed his fingers against his desk, reading through an account wearily when a voice broke the silence in his head: " _Merchant, I find it altogether puzzling the proclivity you have to spend time on pursuits you have neither the energy nor presence of mind for._ "

Ricard sighed and pushed his chair away from his desk, spinning about to face d'Artagnan and sign, "There is work to be done, I'm sure you are well aware. Work that I must attend to if I intend to maintain a livelihood."

" _A livelihood that leaves you in the lap of relative luxury,"_ replied d'Artagnan, a bite of smugness in the voice resonating in Ricard's head. " _Your payment for the work you do alongside the Mortician is not paltry."_

The Merchant smiled and laughed - a largely silent, raspy affair. "And while my wages for detective work are indeed _not paltry_ , I am working on half my usual income. You brought me this case d'Artagnan - your case, really - yours and that strange tapestry that has dominated your Sight; I do not charge my closest friends for my services when I find them becoming my clients. Especially not d'Artagnan, the xatu responsible for my ability to communicate more efficiently." Beaming at the approving clicks d'Artagnan made with his beak in response to the statement, Ricard continued, "I am a man of creature comforts and fine clothing," he signed, "consider all that I cannot enjoy given my conditions. Deaf-mutes don't get much in the way of beautiful music to play on fancy gramophones or the pleasure of singing and orating, you must remember."

" _I have not forgotten, Merchant, make no mistake. Still, it is always worthwhile to consider times when the spectres of your troubles cloud your mind and make the task at hand a shapeless mass in the mists."_

"Who taught you to be so poetic, d'Artagnan? Could it have been a particular accountant that believed in _l'importance des classiques_?" He folded his arms, a grin as smug as d'Artagnan's tone plastered on his face.

" _It was worthwhile to study them. Nevertheless, my own ability to speak is not the topic. You are working while your thoughts live somewhere outside this room. I suggest you remove yourself from your livelihood lest you do more damage in tending to it than you would letting it rest for the day."_ d'Artagnan ruffled his wings as he said this and made his way over to the horizontal rod set atop a base that acted as a makeshift chair to seat himself at the dining room table.

"What do you propose then, d'Artagnan? Don't tell me you wish you'd gone along with Ignace in hopes of getting a pastry yourself?" replied Ricard.

" _Not quite my friend. I was hoping you would indulge me a few sets of Piquet?"_ A pack of cards laying on the coffee table near him lifted into the air, surrounded by a faint purple glow, and sailed over onto the dining table with a soft thud. " _If you insist on working your brain into a fine paste, let it be over a pleasant pastime, not the common drudgery of work."_

Ricard smiled and stood, then strode over to the xatu, signing all the while, "Fine, twist my arm why don't you. Honestly, I don't know why it is I play cards with you d'Artagnan. I feel that every win is one you give me and every loss is the result of your own psychic edge."

The low throbs of d'Artagnan's laughter filled the quiet room. " _I would expect you to think as much, Ricard."_ The pack opened and tipped the cards onto the table and began to shuffle. " _Whether you believe me when I tell you I have never once cheated is, however, entirely at your discretion."_

The cards began to deal themselves and Ricard sighed. "Our work has been one of foggy guesses recently, d'Artagnan…"

" _And faded tapestries lit by the flickering flame of the Sight. I am well aware my friend. What is your concern?"_ asked the bird.

"Do you think that Ignace was right? Has that poor couple become a target of some kind? I didn't believe it, but when in the company of psychics, think as you ought, not as you do."

d'Artagnan watched as the last of the cards were dealt out and clicked his beak. There was a long pause as the two stared at one another. " _Do you really desire my answer Merchant? Or do you desire the comfort only ignorance can afford one?"_

Ricard sighed and shook his head. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and took a long drag then stared meaningfully at the xatu.

" _Ignace was lying."_

* * *

The setting sun, reflected in the water, cast the bridge in a blazing orange light. The glittering water of the canal cast a shimmering glow on the buildings far removed on either side of the bridge. Lights within shops began to spring to life in anticipation of the coming darkness.

Ignace stared out from the bridge at the water below them that cut a path for one of the many canals in Lumiose. He pulled the thin cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a small plume of smoke. "We came here to get away from doing plain old underhanded shit Charles. We've worked outside the law before, yeah but...it never felt like this. Like we're on the wrong side of it." He sipped his coffee and chuckled. "Again." It was a self-deprecating sort of laugh. One born of disappointment in himself. It made his coffee taste like bitter irony.

The bisharp took a bite from his liechi berry tart and contemplated the pensive expression on his friend's face. With a swallow and a quiet grunt, Charles turned to face the water as well. His arm came up and gave Ignace a single thump on the back. Firm. Reassuring. The arm came back down to his side and he took another bite of the tart.

"You're probably right. I did the right thing. Now's not the time to grow a heart." A hand seized Ignace's wrist and turned him to face Charles.

The bisharp stared on, his eyes set and his mouth turned down into a frown. Slowly, Charles shook his head and let out a growl dripping in warning.

"Fine, fine. It just seems that everyone with one is ending up without it." Ignace took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled. "We'll keep those two safe as we can, but I had to make a decision. We need them working with us. D'Artagnan isn't exactly built for this kinda shit." He tapped ash from his cigarette and took a sip of coffee. "It wasn't a bad decision."

Charles finished his pastry and then leaned against the railing of the bridge, crossing his arms as he did so. He locked his gaze on Ignace and shook his head again.

"It wasn't, Charles," replied Ignace dismissively. "I made a good decision. If they didn't stay behind to help, we could have been totally fucked by the time we got to the bottom of this normally." He puffed on his cigarette again exhaled a plume of smoke straight up before sighing and dropping the stick onto the ground and crushing it. "Doesn't mean it was the _right_ decision." He looked back at the bisharp, who continued to stare, unfazed.

Ignace scratched his nose. "Alright, maybe they're supposed to be one and the same, but fuck, Charles - I mean, do we let more people die or take a risk? We're trying to do good here. Make up for it all."

The bisharp cast it eyes towards the ground and growled softly.

"I'm not about to risk it all just on them either. I know that this shit is beyond you and me. Maybe it's bigger than us too. But we've got the dowsing rod and her egghead husband, just need…" He paused and leaned against the railing, watching the sun dip completely below the horizon. "Just need to get Ana. We should go get her tonight. The sooner she's here to help the better."

A pause. He checked his watch. "But at this point we won't get there 'til midnight. Fuck." He leaned out over the railing again. "Fuck it. Tomorrow, first thing." He dropped his head into his hand and groaned. "It's all fucked up Charles. Some job I'm doing here. 'Do the right thing' and look at what I've gone and fuckin' done." The justification he'd built for himself had not held up to much scrutiny, especially his own.

Another pat on his pack, this time soft. Sympathetic.

"They die, it's gonna haunt me for fuckin' ever." He shuffled his feet and shook his head as if to clear it. "Too late anyway. Good or bad, they agreed, and that's gonna help us. Can't dwell on it. I'll have afterwards to think this shit through. If there even is an afterwards." He looked up at the sky, the intense light of Lumiose drowning out most of the stars before turning back to look at Charles.

"I'm no good at this occult shit Charles. It's all fucked and doesn't make any fucking sense. It's got us crawling around sewers, stumbling in the dark, and fighting shit we don't understand." He paced back and forth for a bit before finally sighing. He turned to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder with a small smile.

"Thanks for stumbling in the fuckin' dark with me Charles."

The bisharp reciprocated with a rare smirk of his own and nodded.

"For stumbling with me through everything man. Especially through Unova."

The smirk faded from Charles's face, replaced instead with a look of grim determination as he nodded. He growled softly and looked back out over the canal.

Ignace followed suit and lit another cigarette. Their stumbling had let them all shirk death once before, but this time he felt they could not all be so lucky.

* * *

"Our best bet will be to lie in wait. I do fear that we risk needlessly exposing ourselves if we pursue anything active," explained Vassal. Across from him sat Karan, who had her head in her hands and seemed bored, and Terrence, whom they had found collapsed against a wall in the sewers from exhaustion. His wound had nearly healed, but his leg still pained him now and again. another round of potions would hopefully be enough; for the moment, he watched Vassal with a hard gaze and a grimace on his face.

"So," Vassal continued, his voice echoing in the damp tunnels of the sewers, "We should spring a proper trap using the assets we have at hand. They know Terrence, but not of you nor I, Karan. We will exploit that. Terrence can bait them towards the Lonely Diggersby and engage them in combat in the many alleyways that surround it - fighting more and more ferociously to keep them from getting close to the establishment. Then, he runs. We have a _reputation_ that I'm sure these fools would find worth investigating, especially after a ghost spends so long trying to keep them away."

"Great, so I get to be live bait. I've already been shot once, Vassal," snarled Terrence, "Why would I risk it again?" He made to get up, but at the twinges of pain in his leg, thought better of it.

"Because your life matters little to the King. Whatever arrangement you have with him is meaningless if his path to ascension is obstructed permanently," explained Vassal plainly. "We must endeavor to prevent such a catastrophe."

"What the fuck are you getting out of this Vassal? The King doesn't care if _you_ die either," shot back Terrence.

" _Oui._ He does not. But I believe in the vision of the King. Dying for his cause is a demonstration of my own unworthiness. And devotion."

Terrence pulled a face as he stood. The pain in his leg was worth making a point. "You're insane. And I'm working with you only because I have something I need from your _King._ So if I do this, I do it for my own gains, not for his or yours. I can risk injury for what I want, but if it seems like for even a second I might get killed, I'm bailing and finding a new way to get my own problems sorted."

" **Pathetic."** A tone like poisoned honey. Karan stood up to move herself between Vassal and Terrence, turning to face the gengar. " **You owe the King loyalty."** A long, clawed finger traced a line down Terrence's forehead. It was only through great strength of will that he did not shiver.

" **Run and I'll kill you myself. The blood of ghosts in my claws and fur."** She ran her hands down her body sensually and purred, an evil grin on her face. " **I want to** _ **taste**_ **it."**

Terrence settled on fixing his face into an ugly frown. " **Had your chance earlier today for a taste. Should've taken it then, you won't get another,"** he spat.

" **Only counts if it's a kill,"** replied Karan, the grin on her face widening. She stretched and sat back down. " **Vassal is scheming. Let him continue."**

"Feh," said Terrence shortly. "You heard my terms Vassal. I'll go along with this insane plan. But I won't die on this hill."

"You'll die just the same if you run," replied Vassal, shrugging, "Shot or dismembered. Given the choice, I rather prefer the first option _mon ami_." Terrence growled and made to stomp off into the shadows. "Three days Terrence. Long enough to fully heal. And then we lay our trap and kill these treasonous fools. Their insistence on preventing his ascension will be their undoing."

Karan rose again and purred. She slipped past Vassal, throwing him a brief nod, and then flicked a claw against the ear-like protrusion atop Terrence's head as she caught up to him. " **Sweet dreams tonight if you're hungry. Same room as always."**

Terrence stopped in his tracks and groaned. " **Whore. They're almost always dead anyway. And the** _ **dead don't dream**_ **. Frankly, I've gotten a bit weary of finding the naked, bloody mess of a man instead of dinner."**

Karan turned about and gave him a lazy wave as she retreated. " **Blood** _ **and**_ **lust. Can't help it. Some from Kanto recently."** The chilling sound of her harsh laughter echoed in the tunnel. " **Touch you like it's wrong. Taste like shame and fear.**

" **Delicious."**

* * *

Johannes looked down at the blinking dot on his map. "This looks like the place Viola," he said, unsure. " _Le Théâtre Cruel_?"

Viola shrugged. " _I suppose they would rather I be prepared for the worst._ " She wrung her hands. " _If only they'd thought to do so for you instead. I am...capable enough._ "

Johannes took one of her hands in his and led her into the shop. "Nothing to worry about Viola, I can take care of myself. It's you that's going to be in more danger than - whoa." The inside of the shop was laden with vests, scarves, strange trinkets, wristbands, belts, and assorted weapons that seemed too small for practical use.

The gardevoir rubbed her head. " _Everything in here is buzzing with energy. You are rather fortunate to be free of this burden, dearest."_

"Ah, _monsieur_ , welcome to _Le Théâtre Cruel._ My name is Leo, how can I be of service to you today?" asked a man that emerged from behind the counter at the end of the store. It was at this time Johannes's noted the immense glass case built into the wall. It held a huge variety of stones, some large and similar to ore, some the size of large marbles.

"Uh, I was asked to come here and give you this," replied the researcher awkwardly, pulling the credit chit and note given to him by Ignace to the shopkeep. "I can't read it since I don't speak the language, so I was hoping you'd tell me…?"

Leo seemed to have become deaf, as he made no response to Johannes's explanation and instead busied himself with reading the note. When he finished reading it, instead of looking to Johannes again, he instead fixed his gaze squarely on Viola. HIs eyes made their way up and down her body several times before he frowned and crossed his arms.

"Your gardevoir...what is her specialty?" he asked at last.

Viola crossed her arms and pouted. " _Being his wife."_

Johannes laughed nervously - the voice, cold and short, had manifested in his head as well. "Viola's a communications focused gardevoir, she was never intended to really do much in the way of combat save what's necessary when travelling. I'm a researcher you see, we're not exactly in the business of getting into fights frequently."

"Then Ignace had the right idea, the shrewd _salaud_." He turned about and walked to the display case behind the counter. "You see _monsieur_ , I believe that every battle is a production. An act in a play or film. The scarves and trinkets are for the trained supporting actors to the main attraction; you see what I am saying Johannes?" He gestured to a rack bearing an array of colored scarves and then to a table laden with odd items.

Johannes glanced at Viola with a concerned look on his face. She shrugged back at him.

He reached into his pocket and removed a ring of keys to unlock the case and rummaged about for a sealed box. "Gardevoir...gardevoir… Ah, yes, _deux cent quatre-vingt-deux._ Here we are." He shut and locked the case and then turned about. "To the counter please, _monsieur_ and _madame._ " He rummaged beneath it and pulled up two thick bracelets. The both bore an empty setting that looked large enough to accommodate something the size of a large marble.

Then, it all clicked for Johannes. "By the gods, he didn't…" he mumbled.

" _What is it?"_ asked Viola.

Leo opened the box, revealing a brilliant stone that shone in white, green and red. " _Oui_ , your friend Ignace knew what he was dealing with. You see Johannes and Viola, these stones are rare and powerful." He lifted it from its box and held it out to Viola, who after a glance at Johannes of concern, took it gingerly from Leo. It was warm to the touch. She felt the tips of the spikes on her face prickle.

"The star of the production my dear, well, they become something more." Leo looked Viola in the eyes, a knowing twinkle in his own. "But for the stage hand that never knew what it meant to stand center stage and _be_ that star. With this...why, they finally get a chance to be."


	10. Chapter 10

A long silence hung in the air in  _Le Théâtre Cruel_  as Viola turned the orb in her hand over several times. Her free hand came up to rub one of the prongs that protruded from her face. They were tingling, and as she turned the stone over and over, she felt the tingling intensify. Leo reached over and took it from her hand and notched it into a waiting bracelet. He notched another stone, sparkling with every color of the rainbow, into a second bracelet and presented them to Viola and Johannes.

Leo spoke at last: "For you, Viola,  _gardevoirite_  - and for you Johannes, your key stone."

The couple each took their respective bracelet. Johannes looped his around his wrist while watching Viola contemplate the bracelet, seemingly lost for what to do. "Viola? Something wrong?" he asked.

" _Is it wise to wear this around my wrist? Perhaps somewhere it is less likely to come undone…?"_  said her musical voice in his head. She reached down to her belt and looped her bracelet around it, affixing it next to her pokeball and the pouch she carried identification cards and credit chits in. " _Much better, don't you think?_ " She turned to Johannes and smiled.

"Yeah, I just hope…" he paused and looked down at the bracelet he wore. "These catalyze mega evolution, Viola. You know that, right?"

The gardevoir nodded. " _Yes. It's a rather remarkable process. And still being researched, as you have said."_

Johannes nodded. "Yeah. We aren't completely aware of the long term effects yet, and the process is a bit different between pokemon so…" He trailed off and held his arm up to eye the key stone. "Should we go for a trial run?"

Leo raised an eyebrow and interjected, "Normally I'd explain that it's not quite as simple as just having the proper stones but…" He crossed his arms and chuckled. "The two of you are married. If that fails to cross off the rest of the checklist to cause these stones to function appropriately then I do believe you two have work to do. About each other."

"Trust and a strong bond," mumbled Johannes, his eyes drifting to his bracelet. "I think we've got that squared away." He raised his eyes to Viola, who looked back him with determination. "Ready?"

" _Indeed I am dearest,"_ replied placid tones in his head. " _May this form give me the strength to protect you."_

Johannes touched his forefinger to the key stone, whereupon it began to glow a bright white. Viola followed suit and touched a finger to the stone at her hip, and the stone too began to glow white - along with the rest of her body. Brighter and brighter, as she rose into the air and the folds of the dress that hung from her body began to whip about and her hair fluttered and waved. She opened her mouth and a long, musical tone rang from it and then the light exploded outwards, blinding Johannes and Leo as the musical tone changed from a single note to a chorus.

As the researcher and shopkeep blinked the spots from their eyes, they saw the hovering form of Viola touch back down. She turned to Johannes and smiled before gliding to him and pulling him into a warm heart piece in her chest, now split in two, phased straight through his chest as arms covered in long, elegant white gloves wrapped around him. Somehow her belt had survived the process, unfazed by the sudden change from simple dress to voluminous, trailing ball gown. She looked up at him, her face now framed by the newly extended prongs that grew from it and kissed him.

As she pulled away, Johannes, thoroughly dumbstruck looked on, mouth agape and said hoarsely, "You're…"

A white petal came to his lips and she giggled - musical notes that reverberated from a place unseen. A chorus of voices to match the chorus of giggles in the air came alive in his head and said simply, " _Your guardian, Johannes."_

"Do you feel any different Viola?" asked Johannes, searching her eyes.

" _Quite. I can hear whispers echoing in my head. Voices that sound not unlike my own. Surely you can perceive it? Perhaps even hear it?_ " As the sound of her voice dissipated in his head, her actual voice rose in the air, and again, it sounded like a chorus of perhaps a dozen Violas.

"Well I mean more...like…" he looked away and tapped his head. "Mentally. Worried still?"

Viola's smile faltered for a moment, replaced with a worried frown. " _Of course I am my love."_  She reached up and caressed his face. " _But I am something more than worried. Something better. I am confident. Your guardian, Johannes. A torch against the darkness that would swallow you. A bulwark before the coming horde_."

"Viola, please, that's a bit drastic now isn't it?" asked Johannes nervously.

" _Monsieur_ , you must understand, in this state, many pokemon find themselves possessed of power unlike anything they've ever felt. As I said, from stagehand to actor in this theater that Ignace has invited you to." Leo walked around Viola, studying her. "She is more than ready to fight whatever may stand against you. You must understand that."

Johannes bit his thumb. He wasn't sure if he particularly liked this newfound confidence. "What if she gets hurt? Or worse?"

Viola reached up to his face with her hands and cupped it. " _Dearest, I have been ready to die for you ever since that fateful day in Hoenn_."

The researcher pulled away, a horrified look on his face. "You never actually  _said_  those words though Viola. Besides, I'd sooner die than-"

Leo raised a hand to cut off Johannes. "Enough. You must understand, Johannes. This form does not adhere the rules the gardevoir you married did. So long as she stays as such will these new rules lord over her thoughts." He walked back behind the counter and pulled out a disc case. "Make good use of this - complimentary - technical machine Johannes, and you'll never have to see the depths of her commitment to you proven."

Johannes looked at the case and then back into bright red irises of Viola's eyes. A stone slipped into his stomach. The worry had shifted completely from his wife onto him. "How do I get her out of this form?"

Leo tapped his wrist three times and explained, "Tap your key stone thrice or simply wait out the transformation. Mega evolution has a shelf life that can be counted in minutes. It is also a somewhat exhausting process." He paused and his eyes flit to Viola, whose feet were now hovering an inch from the ground. "I would not recommend resorting to it unless it is absolutely necessary."

The researcher turned back to the Embrace and continued to frown. "You hear that Viola? Only if we absolutely need it." It was odd - only a few hours ago he had been trying to get her to worry less and now...

Viola held out a hand towards Johannes and said quietly in his head, " _Beloved. Trust me. All will be well. So swear I on my life."_

Something seemed to emanate out of her - it swirled through the air and then around Johannes, whipping around and around until it seemed to swirl directly into him. It was as if his heart had become a drain, and circling it was a medley of feelings. Confidence. Hope. Trust. Love. It swirled faster into the drain, filled his heart until he felt it would burst.

The worry drowned in a sea of positivity born from his transformed wife. It wiped the frown from his face, crushed the stone in his stomach to pebbles, then to dust. Blew them into the wind and left him feeling light and free.

He pulled her close to him and buried his head into her hair.

* * *

Ignace stared out the window of the train at the sun as it broke over the blurred countryside. He'd purchased a ticket for himself and Charles to ride from Lumiose to Dendemille. He'd paused only to pop into Ricard's apartment and inform the grouchy, tousle-haired, bleary-eyed accountant that he would be returning by the end of the following day.

It was rather unfair, he figured, to make a decision as weighty as this one in the wee hours of the morning where neither Ricard nor d'Artagnan had the energy to mount any kind of counter-argument, but Ignace had already played his first gambit with Johannes and Viola, and it had left him a betting man. He looked over at Charles, fast asleep in the chair next to him. The conductor had been wary of allowing a Bisharp to sit in one of the plush seats and so had instructed the two to make the way up to the second floor of the train, where fine chain-link seats were available for Pokemon with unusual body types. Ignace shifted in his seat somewhat uncomfortably and flagged down a passing attendant to request a cup of coffee.

Even in a softer, more comfortable chair he wouldn't have been able to sleep. A mixture of emotions churned in his gut: anticipation and fondness, cut with a thick layer of worry. Ever since that day in Unova she'd never been quite the same. His jaw and hands alike clenched. The old scars on his torso prickled at the memory.  _That day._

* * *

Ignace's chest was heaving. His shirt felt warm in some spots, cold in others, but wet throughout. Some of the stab wounds felt like ages ago. With a cough, he focused his attention on the three figures standing before him. At his feet, a fourth figure lay, blood pooled around him, his body still.

"Back to the wall like this in the alley," he thought, "what a way to die." His eyes flickered down to the corpse in front of him. "James always was too hasty for his own good. Idiot."

His eyes shifted to Charles, the pawniard's tiny frame laying helpless on the floor, unmoving. A spark of anger in his belly erupted into a flame that melted into the burning punctures his assailants' knives had left. Beyond one of them, he saw Ana laying upon the ground, her banette valiantly attempting to keep her Trainer safe. Jeannette seemed to be doing a good enough job. For the moment. Only one of the figures before him, Justin, was focused on her, though his annoyance seemed to be growing.

"Someone help me with this fucking haunted puppet." he growled. "This thing is fucking annoying. Dunno why the fuck it evolved, can hardly fuckin' fight." Justin ducked away from another shadow ball that crashed into the wall next to him harmlessly. He had the foresight to position himself in such a way that none of the attacks from the banette would make their way into the backs of his accomplices, but it had also left him relatively cut off from them. To make matters worse, the banette had kept up a constant stream of its strange speech, sending a cascade of shrieks, groans, moans, whispers and unearthly choruses of voices into the air.

The man nearest Ignace rolled his eyes, but did not turn his head away from him. "Quit fuckin' whining. Just shoot the fucking thing."

"Boss said no one brings a piece, remember? Wanted this done the old fashioned way. Sending a message and all that stupid shit. Got fuckin' James killed and everything," shot back Justin.

"Cry me a river cupcake. Just make sure you leave the girl alive, boss wants her. And as for  _you,_  Daniel." An ugly grin split Oliver's face.

Ignace caught the flash of steel and parried Oliver's knife just in time with his own. It sent trails of pain down his torso and arms and he groaned as the recoil throbbed through his arm.

"Boss isn't happy with what you're trying to do, you slimy cunt. Coulda fuckin' stayed in but figured you were better'an this, huh?"

"I'm...fucking leaving. Through you if I fucking have to." It hurt to speak, and he could feel his own breathing growing shallower. "Charles, get the fuck up."

Another figure, an imposing mountain of muscle by the name of Izaiah, turned about and looked at the pawniard. "He's fuckin' dead shithead. Just like you."

Another flash of steel, but his own dexterity failed him this time. His arm came up too late to realize that Oliver had thrown his knife, not swung with it. Cursing his need for trivial things like blood to remain focused and agile, Ignace fell to the ground next to the corpse with a shout of pain, the knife lodged firmly in his gut. "Fuck!" He wound his fingers around the grip of the knife and contemplated tugging it loose.

"Know when to fuckin' stay down already, Winters. You fuckin' lost, now fuckin' die already. Shit shoulda been over like thirty minutes ago, but you always were a lowdown, dirty dog of a motherfucker." Oliver lit a cigarette and walked over to Ignace to stare down at him. He kicked the knife Ignace had dropped as he fell away casually. "Veronica's gonna love spittin' on your fuckin' grave for what you did to James."

Ignace found each breath he drew progressively more ineffective at actually doing its job of delivering him oxygen - his fingers and toes were feeling colder by the second too. "F-f-fuck. You."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Oliver puffed on his cigarette and then turned to look at Izaiah. "Would you stomp that thing's face into a god damn pulp already? Then you can help Justin with that fuckin' puppet. I need Daniel here to watch this shit before he croaks." He turned his attention back to Ignace and smirked. "Too bad the boss laid out a hands-off policy for your girl. You sure knew how to pick them. Big 'n soft in all the right fuckin' places. Kooky fuckin' tastes though, no wonder they called her a hex-"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Ignace saw Izaiah raise a massive boot to bring down on Charles's head, only for the pawniard to begin to stir, and then turn completely white. The light that formed around his body exploded outward and caught Izaiah off balance and sent him falling back. Ignace blinked the stars from his eyes and saw Charles pick himself up off the ground, now a Bisharp, his face set into a grimace.

The diatribe from Jeannette stopped abruptly - and then it spoke what Ignace imagined was a single word.

Charles's reply was short and curt, and then he sprung forward.

"Oliver! Help!" The man towering over Ignace turned to see the bisharp launch itself at Izaiah with a piercing growl, swinging wildly at him with the blades upon his forearm. The man was only just deflecting the bisharp's onslaught, but it became clear to Ignace that Charles was getting faster with each strike.

" _Don't fucking let up Charles!_ " shouted Ignace. He crawled away from Oliver, inch by inch, and desperate to get to his knife laying on the ground a few feet away. Oliver responded by turning and giving Ignace a swift kick to the face. Amid the sound of an ominous crack, Ignace felt his eyes explode into stars again - still, he flailed about blindly for the grip of his knife.

"Just fucking stab the thing!"

"Fucking where, it's made of metal and shit!"

"In the stuff that doesn't look like fuckin' metal you idiot!"

Ignace blinked the stars from his eyes once again to see Charles assault Oliver and Izaiah, his movements light and his attacks almost effortless. All of their attacks were parried or blocked, and the odd one that made it through seemed to be entirely worthless against his newly armored body.

Beyond the melee he saw Jeannette mass together a sizable ball of shadow energy and prepared to toss it. Justin dodged to the side reflexively - directly into the ball as Jeannette threw it at him, her feint successful. Justin's head exploded into a strange purple fire and he fell screaming to the ground. The screams became a horrible choking sound as he clawed at his face ineffectively and then he was still.

"Holy fuck, that puppet just killed Justin!" screamed Izaiah. His concentration broken, a bladed arm slashed across his stomach, leaving a wake of dark energy, and a second later his innards exploded out of him.

Ignace's blindly grasping hands gripped his knife at long last and he got to his feet, his entire body swaying. He began to step towards Oliver, who was looking feverishly between Charles and Izaiah. The mountain of muscle lay crumpled on the ground, whimpering and desperately trying to stuff his intestines back into the gash in his stomach, though his movements began to slow as shock set in. Not long after, his face was set permanently in a wild-eyed look of fear. His grasping hands fell still as the blood pooled around him.

A strong, repulsive stench broke into the air to mix with the smell of blood and flesh seared with ghost energy.

Ignace looked Charles in the eyes and nodded - the bisharp nodded back. He looked to Jeannette as well, who looked disdainfully at him before tending to Ana's unconscious figure on the ground.

"We used knives, Oliver." growled Ignace as he stomped towards him, his entire body swaying so much it nearly sent him falling back to the floor. "Said we didn't need guns to win this stupid turf war. The families, the politics, the fuckin' eye for an eye bullshit. Didn't need guns for that garbage. We used knives. That sonofabitch Morrissey said we did it because it sent a message."

"Well, I think there's a new message for him to hear." He was upon the man now, staring into eyes wide with terror. Ignace did not so much push him onto the ground as fall upon him and bring him along. He got to his knees and raised his knife into the air and then plunged it down into Oliver's throat to the sound of a wet, gurgling cry of pain and fear, shouting:

"And it's mine!"

* * *

Ignace snapped out of his recollection.  _Daniel Winters._  With a sigh he dropped his head back into his headrest and stared up at the ceiling. That name had died the second he boarded the boat to Kalos with Ana. Her last name had too. Veros to Prevost. He rubbed his eyes. She had steadfastly refused to change her first name. Not that it mattered, Ana would work well enough in Kalos, but Ignace still worried now and again.

The countryside gave way to houses now and again, and as they approached Dendemille, the home whipped past closer and closer together. He felt Charles stir next to him as the conductor announced over the intercom, "Now arriving in Dendemille Town. Please collect your belongings and Pokemon. Return all Pokemon without boarding passes to their balls and disembark in an orderly fashion. Thank you for choosing Manectric Monorail."

"Let's go Charles. We're here. Gotta get to her house before she leaves for the day," he said aloud, nudging his friend. The bisharp stirred and growled. "Come on, get up ya lazy bastard, or I'm leaving you behind."

With a groan, the bisharp got to his feet and yawned, mumbling something incomprehensible.

"Yeah, yeah, you can call me an asshole or whatever the hell it was you said later, we've gotta get off the train." He pushed the bisharp onward into the aisle, down the stairs and out onto the platform.

The two found themselves in a quiet train station - clearly no commuters came to or traveled out of Dendemille. The orange glow cast by the rising sun crept along the ground slowly, making its way up the face of the station building nearby. "Alright, let's get a move on. Walk is gonna take us a while from this station. Forgot she's in the middle of the fuckin' town."

The two walked in relative silence, opting to pass by the inviting smells of the coffee and pastry shops - they would have breakfast at Ana's house. Ignace ran his hand surreptitiously along the small of his back, feeling the outline of the dagger he kept there. She'd given it to him back in Unova out of the blue one day. It was a bit morbid, he thought to himself, remembering the scene. Her smile, outstretched hands presenting the dagger and demure stature. Like an Acolyte of Arceus handing a man a pistol and a prayer.

He remembered her insistence on him taking it, the ever-darkening circles beneath her eyes after many a sleepless night waiting for his return, and the twinge of sadness that lived behind her upturned lips. He slapped his face several time and rolled his neck. He'd visited Ana precious few times in the last two years, and each time he did it always made him more emotional than he cared to be. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what he'd have to contend with whenever he did that changed him.

Every visit played out the same - a perfect storm of fondness allayed with a constant struggle against Ana's anxiety and timidity. That day in Unova had left her a wreck, horrified of the carnage she awoke to, of the state she found Ignace in, and of what he'd done to keep her safe. The guilt weighed too heavily upon her chest and seemed to have taken root in her very soul. At times, Ignace found himself wondering if his presence helped or hindered her recovery - though he had to admit, progress in the last two years seemed minimal.

Charles growled and muttered something unintelligible and pointed off down the road. The break in the silence snapped Ignace out of his thoughts and he looked around. A scant few passersby walked along the road, some bleary-eyed and others clutching mugs of coffee and tea, none of them paying him any mind. They were nearly to her home now, having moved past the the plethora of shops, cafes, bakeries and restaurants that lined the streets that led into the town and into the residential area. He looked about and noted the immense windmill that dominated the skyline and traced his eyes from the windmill, across the river, and to Ana's home in the near-distance. "Thanks Charles. Got lost in thought for a bit there."

The two approached Ana's door and Ignace reached out to knock thrice; each rap of his knuckles against the wood echoed in the house. He heard a muffled, "C-c-coming, coming!"

The door swung open and revealed the short, dark-haired figure of Ana. The shadows under her eyes had lightened somewhat, and her hair seemed less wispy and had a stronger luster to it than last time. She stared back at Ignace, her mouth agape and the figure of Jeannette rose into the air behind her, hovering near her shoulder. The banette regarded Ignace with narrowed eyes and a scoff of distaste, though her eyes softened when she looked to Charles and she gave the bisharp a nod.

Ignace decided to ignore the glare Jeanette had thrown at him and instead looked Ana in the eyes, saying quietly, "I'm ba- oof."

His announcement was cut off by Ana throwing herself into his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. He returned the embrace and stared down at the crown of her head.

For a long while, only the sounds of the nearby river and the chirps of bird pokemon rang out in the air until at last Ana spoke, somewhat muffled, "D-D-Daniel… You're b-b-back."

"Never were one for assumed names, were you?" he replied softly. "Let's go inside. Safer, quieter, and I've got a lot to discuss." He reached down to pull her face out of his chest and tilted it up to face his. "And Charles and I could do with a bit of breakfast." He glanced to his bisharp and smirked. "Besides, he loves peeling potatoes, don't ya?"

Charles groaned and put his head in his hands, shaking it all the while. Inside, the strange laugh of Jeannette tinkled in the air, something like a mixture of whispers, muffled voices and quiet squeals.

Ana stood on her tiptoes to kiss Ignace's cheek before pulling back to search search his eyes and face. "I-I-I-I missed you, D-Daniel."

Ignace managed a small smile. "Not as much as I missed you Ana." Soon enough, he thought, she'd know it was for reasons beyond just absence.

* * *

Ignace shoveled the last of his pancakes into his mouth and gave Charles a patronizing look at the amount of liechi berry flavored syrup he'd added to his own. "You know those berries aren't exactly cheap," he remarked thickly. He took a sip of coffee and continued, "And neither is shit flavored with 'em. Take it easy."

The bisharp huffed and set aside the syrup to dig into his pancakes.

" **Same sweet tooth as ever, Charlie?"**  asked Jeannette, her zippered mouth curving into a smirk. The sound came from all directions, a strange mixture of whispers, shrieks and rushing winds. " **I'd have thought that Winters would have kept you on a no-sugar diet."**

Charles took time chewing his pancakes before responding. He watched Ignace rise with his plate and begin washing it, talking with Ana all the while. He saw him give her a peck on the forehead before Charles turned back to Jeannette and swallowed. " **Liechi berries."**  He took another bite of pancake and savored the strange mixture of spice and sweet that coated his mouth before continuing, " **Don't like most sweets. All sugar. No flavor. Rather have plain pastry in Lumiose."**

Jeannette rose into the air and floated over to Charles and sat herself on the table next to his plate. She crossed one leg over another and watched him eat, humming a tune Charles did not recognize all the while. When he finished his syrup-soaked pancakes she lifted the plate with a lazy wave of a finger and called out to Ana and Ignace. The detective turned around in time to see her toss the plate at him and with a loud "fuck", Ignace caught it. They were plastic, he noted - it figures that she'd throw it at him.

"Good to know Jeannette likes me as much as she always has," said Ignace, a bitter tone in his voice. He lifted a hand from the plate and watched the syrup drip slowly from it before looking at the banette with disdain. "Thanks puppet. Real fuckin' nice."

Her strange laughter filled the air for a moment before she turned her attention back to Charles. " **So…"** she reached out and flicked the blade protruding from his helmet. The bisharp gave her an exasperated look and dug his chin into his hand. Grinning as much as her zippered mouth would allow, Jeannette idly kicked a leg up and down and continued, " **Been a while Charlie. Winters treating you well?"**

Charles grunted. " **Of course. Excellent friend. Strong Trainer."**  He looked into red sclera and long, thin pupils of the banette's eyes. " **Will emphasize** _ **excellent**_   **friend."** He paused for an instant. " **Work to do. Ghosts and Kings. Rumblings from the dark."** He tapped his chest. " **Not mine. No blade of the dark. From beyond the veil."**

The grin slipped from Jeannette's face and she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the ceiling. " **Not here for a visit then, are you Charlie? Winters didn't come here to see Ana. It's just business."**  She sighed. " **Bad business."**

Charles put his hand to Jeannette's shoulder and looked her in the eyes again. " **Need help. Hers."** He pointed to Ana and then pointed at the banette. " **Yours."**

The banette looked up from Charles to glance at Ana. " **Of course…"**

* * *

Ignace had chosen to sit Ana down on the bench outside of her house. It faced the river and the windmill, an idyllic backdrop he'd have to sully with a rather ugly request. She was slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulders and kicking her legs idly. "W-what's wrong, D-Daniel?" she asked.

"What makes you ask that Ana?" he replied.

"You've b-been quiet. M-much more q-quiet than y-you normally are when you v-visit." She sat up straight and reached up to turn him to face her. "Y-you can tell m-me."

He looked away from her and dug his hands into his pockets. "I know. I've been trying to figure out how to." He freed a hand and scratched his face. "How's business?"

Ana tilted her head. "I-it's fine." She leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "B-but th-that's not w-what we're t-t-talking about."

Ignace looked at the pout on her face and felt his heart constrict. "I know." He fell silent.

"S-so?" she prodded.

It was as if a valve had burst and a nonstop stream of words gushed forth from Ignace's mouth. "I need your help. Yours and Jeannette's. We've hit a new case that I can't do alone. Ricard's helping, d'Artagnan's helping in ways you couldn't believe - I even had to tap two would-be victims. I've got some married couple from Sinnoh working with us. It's fucking insanity. All of it. We were attacked in our apartments. Ghosts and shit are killing people. That fuckin' bird is seeing crazy shit from the future. Charles is scared shitless of this "King" that's orchestrating everything. A gods damned gengar and dusknoir are involved. And to make shit worse, the police are keeping it all nice and hushed up too. Can't hurt Lumiose's tourist numbers, can we? And that married couple from Sinnoh? It's a behavioral researcher and a fucking  _gardevoir._ "

He stood up abruptly and began to pace. "I have no idea how this all got so fucking far away from my usual shit. I was solving simple murders and tracking down wayward pokemon that got sucked into the underbelly of that fucking city. I was solving problems. I was fucking redeeming myself. Sort of." He raised his arms in exasperation and gesticulated wildly at nothing. "And now I'm fucking here asking you for help. Dragging you into shit I swore I wouldn't. Ricard doesn't know I'm doing this but he's also not going to be surprised that I did. He's not gonna be any less  _pissed_  about it either. But I know for a fucking fact that you'd make this all easier. Save lives, figure shit out, keep it all from going pear-shaped." He paused to take a breath. "More pear-shaped anyway."

Ana stared at Ignace for a moment and then stood to hug him. "W-what kind of h-help do you n-need?"

"I should have figured you wouldn't protest." He rubbed her back and watched the windmill turn. "You're too fucking good to me. Too gods damned unselfish." He felt Ana shake her head into his chest as she mumbled something indistinct.

The door behind them opened, revealing Charles and Jeannette. Ignace craned his head around to look at them and gave his bisharp a quick nod. "Right on time you two. Try to catch whatever it is I'm about to say Jeannette. Maybe it'll be enough to make you wanna kill me."

He pulled Ana away from himself and bent down to look her squarely in the eyes. "I need tags, your cloth and your ball." He watched her eyes glass over and added reluctantly, "And you."

Something fell away into an abyss behind Ana's eyes. Her face remained blank and unblinking for an uncomfortably long time before she finally closed them and pulled Ignace down into the crook of her neck, her breathing rapid and shallow. Strange words began to form on her lips and became a nonstop stream of an alien tongue.

"Ana. Ana snap out of it," said Ignace firmly, squirming out of her alarmingly strong grip. He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a soft shake.

She stopped mid-sentence and shook her head. Her knees shook. "Must it be, Daniel?" She slumped into him.

"I...well-" began Ignace. He stopped and looked guiltily at Charles and then Jeannette. He was surprised to see a look that approximated pity upon her face instead of anger. "Yes. It must. I'm sorry."

Ana reached into her dress and pulled a key looped through a necklace free and clutched it in her hand tightly. "J-J-J-Jeannette…" She took a deep breath. "Get my bag." She took another breath. "Get the box."

" **Come. You can help,"**  whispered the banette to Charles. She nodded at Ana and turned back inside. " **Ghost kings and creatures from both sides of the veil. What have you gotten yourself into Charlie?"**

The bisharp shrugged and followed the banette to a nondescript closet in a far corner of the house. " **Always followed Daniel. Into darkness. Into light. Don't ask questions.** " He crossed his arms and the banette pressed a hand to the door - a seal glowed purple on it for a moment and then it creaked open. " **This box?"**

Jeannette nodded. " **That's the one. But more importantly - no questions at all Charlie? Blind follower are we? I thought you were better than that."**

Charles regarded the parcel before him. It was a small wooden crate, covered in tags and chains. A glowing purple lock made of brass glinted even in the relative darkness of the closet. Charles lifted the box - the chains rattled far more than they should have. Next to it was a plain suitcase. Jeannette lifted it into the air and had it float beside her.

" **Hrm."** Charles looked the box over and frowned at Jeannette.

The banette waved her hand dismissively. " **It won't hurt you. It wouldn't really hurt anyone as it is. But when Ana opens it she'll be...less than happy about it."**

" **Not blind,"**  he said abruptly. Jeannette tilted her head at him. " **Blades are strong. Sharp. Rigid."** He raised a gauntleted hand at her and wagged an approximation of a finger at her. " **Bend a blade - it snaps."**  His eyes narrowed and he focused on the box again. " **Will not snap for Daniel."**

Jeannette stared at Charles for a moment before she said, " **I'm...surprised. Does he know that?"**

The bisharp shrugged. " **Never tried to snap me."**  He made his way back to the front door and looked out at Ignace and Ana. " **Surprised. Expected anger at Daniel from you."**

With a scoff, Jeannette floated after Charles. " **I'm** _ **always**_   **angry at Daniel. But I can see something in him. Saw it in him the moment he showed up, Charlie."**

They paused at the threshold of the house and Charles paused to look at Jeannette. " **Fear."**  It wasn't a question.

The banette stared at Ana for a moment then closed her eyes and shook her head grimly. " **More than fear, Charles."**  She sighed. " **Regret."**

Charles glanced at the box down in his hands and chewed on his words for a moment. " **Daniel is...guilty."**

" **Not one to mince words, are we Charlie?"**  replied Jeannette, the hint of a smirk on her face.

He shrugged. " **Lies are flimsy. Brittle. Truth cuts like a knife. Hurts. Helps."** He set the case down before Ana and Ignace and nodded at the two of them.

Ana picked up the crate with trembling hands and handed it to Ignace. "W-when are we going b-back to Lumiose?"

Ignace looked the box over with a look of unease - the thing felt wrong to even  _hold_. "Now. You got your suitcase already, after all."

Ana ran her fingers through her hair restlessly, tousling it over and over. At last, she walked over to Jeannette and grabbed the suitcase floating next to her before she strode back to Ignace, her free hand still playing inexorably with her hair. "Then l-let's go." She turned about, thought better of it and then turned back to him. "D-Daniel." She brought a hand up to his face.

The detective looked back at her guiltily. "Yeah?"

She kissed him. "I love you."

Ignace tucked the crate under an arm and took her suitcase from her. "I love you too."


	11. Chapter 11

The entire ride was spent by Ignace and Ana acting as lovers long separated were wont to do: recounting everything that had occurred in each other's absence. The constant retelling of the many cases Ignace now had under his belt clashed perfectly with the mundanity of Ana's day to day life. As little more than a quiet Moo-Moo milk merchant, her tales of the variety of customers she dealt with were usually relatively uninteresting - save one young Trainer who unexpectedly cleared out her stock and left her significantly wealthier - and far more confused. Evidently, as she recounted to Ignace, buying it all at once was "more efficient."

On Charles's end, the endless deluge of questions that Jean leveled against the bisharp had left him cursing the amount of time Ignace had let pass since he last met with Ana.

" **So Charlie, tell me,"**  the banette began, wrestling with his arm in an attempt to hold his hand, " **How's the blimp and dog? And what's the idiot been up to?"**

" **The 'blimp' is fine. Often flies around Lumiose. Gives rides to children."**  Charles chuckled, and Jean took the momentary weakness to grab his hand firmly. " **Bothers the parents. Think she'll steal their souls. Dog is also well."** He wrenched his hand out of her grip, his face setting into a frown. " **Daniel is fine. Will say again: excellent friend. Prefer you'd not insult him."**

Jeannette turned and leaned her back against him with a huff **,** but a smirk formed on her zippered mouth. Casually, she brought her arms up to his neck and locked her fingers together behind it. The bisharp sighed. This banette was relentless - though eventually her incessant playfulness would pass. Jean would know the dangerous stakes they faced soon enough, and she was never playful when Ana's safety was at risk.

The banette threw one of her legs casually over the other and replied, " **Fine. Tell me what you've been up to then, Charlie. Anything particularly interesting?"**

Charles sighed and propped an elbow up on the armrest opposite of Jean in an attempt to free himself from her affectionate hold. He dug his chin into his hand and muttered, " **Nothing. Other than this case. Ghost Kings. Human hearts. Dark sewers and dangerous feelings."** He sat up straight and cleared his throat. " **Need to take this seriously. Will understand soon enough."**

Jeannette pouted and sat up to turn in her seat. She reached out to turn Charles's face towards her and then unzipped her mouth. A peculiar purple smoke billowed softly from it. " **I know that this is dangerous,"**  she began. Her tone was completely different now. Softer. Less a cacophony of discordant sounds and more an echoing whisper. Though less harsh, her current tone was curt. " **Ana got** _ **that**_   **box out of her closet. Winters is here with sad eyes and a muted presence - like a growlithe caught peeing on the bed. I'd say you're even** _ **more**_   **grim than usual."**  She floated up to bring her face level with Charles's and squared it with her own. " **So don't go telling me about how serious this is. No nonsense to the very end - can't even let a lonely ghost have her fun."**  Charles made to look away from her, rolling his eyes dismissively. He was met with surprising resistance from the Ghost type, and as Jean inched closer the plumes of purple smoke puffing out from her mouth rose more rapidly in strange spirals. " **Do me a favor."**  Another hand came up to his cheek, and she leaned forward. Charles felt her breath against his lips.

He wrenched himself from from her grip and pulled himself away from the banette. Her pursed, zipper-clad lips found nothing but air and she nearly fell forward. She caught herself and looked up at Charles, her face set in a frown and daggers in her eyes. " **Really? I might die."**

Charles averted his gaze. " **Won't. Will make sure of it."**

She floated up into the air and made her way to Ana, calling back, " **You better. I won't ever haunt you again if you mess this up."**

The bisharp gazed out the window and gave a noncommittal grunt. He knew she was right about that.

It bothered him.

* * *

Ignace helped Ana finish unpacking and swept his eyes across his room. "Sorry for the mess. You were always the homemaking type, not me," he said somewhat sheepishly. The various notes, books, boxes, clothing and dishes scattered about the apartment had only only increased in quantity as he'd dug deeper into the mystery at hand. His eyes swept from item to item in his room. The ragged mess of a couch first - the fault of Charles's tossing and turning when he slept on it at night. Next, the enormous arcanine splayed across the floor, one leg twitching. Finally, the drifblim floating aimlessly about his home, cooing infrequently and occasionally annoying Charles for her amusement.

Jeannette waved at the drifblim, now floating near the fridge, and called out, " **How do you tolerate this dump?"**

The drifblim began to float up, through the ceiling, and all Jeannette heard from her afterwards was, " **Freedom!"** It was a curious voice: high, almost tinny. And steeped all the way through with joy.

" **Does she usually do that?"**  asked Jean to Charles. The bisharp nodded with a smirk. With a strange, ethereal laugh that made Ignace's spine tingle, Jeannette floated over to the dining table and sat down on its surface. She watched Ana take her place at the edge of Ignace's bed and fiddle with the crate in her arms.

"I'm going to get Ricard and d'Artagnan, Ana," explained Ignace. "In the meantime, uh…" He studied his love for a moment, the corners of his mouth creased into a frown. For all his skill with getting people to tell him things he needed to know, finding the right words for Ana was always a struggle. And so, lamely he said: "Get ready, I guess."

Ana stared through Ignace and nodded absently, as if she was distracted by something far beyond him. Then Jeannette felt the mood in the room suddenly plunge so harshly it might have shot through the floorboards. The tiny smirk on Charles's face vanished in an instant, replaced with a frown that closely mimicked his Trainer's.

The detective walked out - and then immediately back in, an impeccably dressed Ricard and a morose looking xatu following closely behind. The white-suited accountant looked unusually grim and angry. His blonde hair was a mess, signs of angrily running his fingers through it between sentences as he signed furiously at Ignace, who replied only half-heartedly.

The entire conversation was lost on Jean, Ana and Charles - until a voice sprung to life in the room: d'Artagnan's. " _The Merchant is less than pleased with your presence, Priestess."_

Ana looked about the room and pointed to herself. "Priestess? I-I'm not a P-Priestess."

" _By the threads of this fraying tapestry, cast in shadow and burning with embers of cold fire, you have been named Priestess."_  The eyes upon the xatu's chest flashed a brilliant purple and he turned to face Jeannette. " _And so too by the threads have you been named Vessel."_

Jeannette frowned. " **Vessel? Weird name. Why?"**

D'Artagnan clicked his beak. " **The tapestry does not explain these titles. We are left with nothing but what we can divine."**

" **Best to not ask questions. Accept. Easier that way."** Charles crossed his arms and added, " **Blade a fitting title. Vessel, on the other hand."**  He paused. " **Hm. Understandable."**

" **Souls don't pour out of me when you open up this zipper; you two know better than that. Don't know who started that rumor but-"**

D'Artagnan cut across Jean. " **The time to discuss these matters has yet to come. For now, it is imperative that you, Vessel, know of the King that seeks to rise."**  The xatu resumed his telepathic translation, " _As I said prior, the Merchant believes you have been brought here despite the ill effects it could have upon you. The Mortician suggests opening the container you clutch, and Ricard would rather you do anything but. However…_

Ricard's arms finally stop gesturing and he instead crossed them. He stared at Ignace fuming, as if to demand an explanation.

"People are dying Ricard. We have to get this shit done as fast as we can," Ignace signed and spoke simultaneously. "That researcher and his gardevoir should be put in danger for as little time as possible, and that also goes for Ana. Even if it means using her kit again. Let me explain everything to her first, and then, well... if she thinks that she can't help, or that her help would just get us killed, then I'll send her home and we do this  _your_  way. Is that fair? Throw me a bone here."

The corner of Ricard's mouth twitched and with a slight jerk of his head, Ignace immediately launched into a breakneck pace explanation of everything that had unfolded in Lumiose. It would have been unwise to have told Ana all of this on the train - not where others could hear and cause a panic. Or worse.

Jean was having difficulty keeping up - between her own tenuous grasp of human speech and the pace at which Ignace was delivering his words, she was thankful for d'Artagnan's translation. Or at least she felt she should be, but the explanation of what exactly was happening in the city made her essence regress. It was a peculiar sensation like falling down, but inwards, into an abyss unseen. She hated it, and for good reason - it was always a sign of grim times ahead. Her zippered mouth twisted into a worried frown as she looked over at Ana, who was busy fidgeting with the chain wrapped around the box.

Ignace finished his explanation and followed Ana's expression morosely. Somewhere in the midst of it her attention had snapped back to the room, and her eyes now searched Ignace's face. "So Ana, now that you know what's happening," he began, still signing for Ricard's sake, "Can you help? I won't pretend that this isn't something I need right now. But if you'd rather head right back home-"

Ana lifted the box to level it with her eyes and spoke to it - or rather,  _through_  it, at Ignace. "I-It sounds like R-Ricard here would r-rather I not h-help." She took a breath and leaned around the box to look the accountant in the eyes. "B-but Ignace is r-right. I h-have to h-help. It's the o-only w-w-way." She lowered the box again and set it in her lap, then looked at Ignace seriously, her face suddenly severe. "B-but you've g-gone and involved a T-trainer and his p-pokemon as w-well?"

As if on cue, a knock rang out at the door and Charles turned to answer it. A moment later, the forms of Johannes and Viola entered the apartment, further crowding the interior. Jean took note of the gardevoir - how she stepped in time with her Trainer, the odd sparkle of the ring on her finger, and the belt around her waist from which dangled pouches and a curious stone set into a looplet.

And that...sun hat. The banette frowned. A  _sun hat_?

Johannes held his hand out to Ana. "Pleased to meet you Ana. Johannes. This is Viola, my wife." She returned the handshake and looked at Viola with a small smile.

Jeannette unzipped her mouth and let out a single, ringing laugh. " **Wife? Did I hear that right? Charlie, tell me I heard that right."**

The bisharp threw her a sharp look and put a finger to his lips. " **Yes. Not the time. Be respectful."**

Viola ignored the outburst and clasped Ana's hand with both of her own, intoning telepathically, " _Indeed. You are even more beautiful than Ignace's memories - ah!"_  She bowed deeply, catching herself. " _My apologies. That was uncalled for. Forget I mentioned anything."_

The cold voice did not bother Ana - she could pierce it, feel the warmth that bubbled underneath. Instead, she looked to Ignace with a puzzled expression. "Memories?"

The detective leaned against his closet door. "It's honestly a long story, Ana. Nothing to be worried about. Not now. We've got…" His eyes fell upon the box and he sighed. "More pressing matters."

"What's in the box?" asked Johannes, eyeing it warily.

Ricard gestured bitterly at them, and d'Artagnan's voice rang out in the apartment, " _Her undoing. Or so believes the Merchant. He and I both are rather acquainted with the Priestess and her prayers and rituals. Not first-hand, however. Not yet. It would seem that through the Mortician's own hand we now shall be."_

"Why them?" asked Ana, pointing to Johannes and Viola.

"Johannes is a behavioral researcher. He'll be helpful in giving us insight into potential patterns we can exploit. Or maybe we'll find out something about the dusknoir he'll be able to help with. Viola is an emotional dowsing rod. She can find the desecrated corpses of the heartless victims. Or maybe zero in on dusknoir. Maybe both. Lots of trials to run still honestly," supplied Ignace.

Ana furrowed her brow. "I s-see. Th-this is quite nice of y-you t-two."

The small smile upon Viola's face vanished and she looked worried again. Her hand came to the gardevoirite set into the looplet upon her belt and rubbed it nervously. " _We may be marked. Hunted, perhaps. It is in our best interests to help to ensure our own safety."_

"Hunted? What h-happened?" asked Ana in alarm. She set the box aside and stood, striding over to him and grabbed Ignace by his shoulders. "J-just h-how deep does th-this all run? Th-they shouldn't b-be m-marked!"

Ignace shifted uncomfortably against the closet door. "I don't know Ana. They were attacked, hunted down by a dusknoir for quite some time across a large chunk of Lumiose. It was on the news: a chase through the sky and everything. They'd have to be marked if crazy shit like that's happening, right?"

She gave him an incredulous look and then turned back to her box. "It sh-shouldn't be th-this way. I-innocent people m-marked by this "g-ghost k-king". It's a-all wr-wrong."

Ricard began to sign again, but Ignace cut him off, signing and saying, "Ricard, you know I always fuckin' listen to you. But this time, I think you need to let me have this. You heard Ana. You said if she was willing to help, you wouldn't say anything. We're burning time we could be spending figuring out what to do next." He walked up to the accountant and put a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me."

Ricard's eyes scanned Igance's moving lips and after a moment, he sighed. His arms rose slowly and he said simply, "Fine."

Ignace inclined his head in thanks and then craned his neck around to look at Ana. "Alright. Open it."

Ana pulled a small key free from underneath the neckline of her dress. It was a simple brass design, tied to a mundane piece of leather string. She rotated the box until she found the padlock upon it and unlocked it. The chains fell away soundlessly, and landed with a curiously muffled  _clink_  on the floor. The tags upon the box began to glow, with the symbols in particular shining a brilliant shade of crimson.

Jeannette got up from the kitchen table and floated over to Ana to sit on her shoulder. Her trainer reached up and rubbed the top of her head absently before she busied herself with the tags.

One by one Ana tore off the tags from each side of the box. Each time one was removed the tag in question would flash red and then fade into a blank sheet of paper.

_Rip. Rip. Rip._

And then only one remained. She grasped the tag between her thumb and forefinger and gently ripped it free. The box shuddered for a moment and then fell apart. She tossed the slack pieces of wood aside and revealed a curious, deep purple cloth. It was oddly bundled, as if something had been carefully wrapped inside. .

" _Pieces fall into place, Mortician. But are you so ready to brave the realm of the dead again?"_  asked d'Artagnan in a whisper. Ignace shushed him.

Ana's hands were trembling now, and with some difficulty they unwrapped the item held within the reaper's cloth. A curious chunk of stone sat within, no larger than the gardevoirite Viola wore at her hip. Ana took a deep breath and looked up at Ignace, her warm, black eyes wild and burning with a strange mixture of fear and determination. "D'Artagnan. Y-you're a xatu. You c-can see into the future, r-right?"

" _My Sight is muddied. Dim. The fires that light the tapestries that have led us to this King have begun to die. The very fabric erodes, frays and tears. The King, his servants, the damned themselves - someone is hindering our progress,"_ replied the xatu telepathically. " _Yet I cannot help but notice. The Reaper's Cloth. We can breach the other side, for a time. We have done so once already."_

Ana shook her head. "I need th-this cloth. I h-have a b-better idea in m-mind. D-do you t-trust me?"

D'Artagnan inclined his head. " _We are all desperate to see this through. The pillars and hearts. The mounting pile of corpses. It would be the very apex of idiocy to presume that we are blessed with the Temporal One's gift."_

Ana frowned. "B-but do you t-trust me?"

The xatu flapped his wings and clicked his beak. " _I do."_

She smiled and turned to Ignace. "This time, Daniel, I won't be pushed to the brink."

The detective stared back and nodded. "Of course. I'm gonna hold you to that promise, Ana."

Johannes and Viola alike performed a miniscule doubletake, their eyes flitting from Ana to Ignace and back.  _Daniel?_

Ana took hold of the orb in her free hand and began to swirl the reaper's cloth around it, muttering under her breath. Strange flickers of purple shaped like embers and smoke trails blinked into existence around her. Johannes stared at Ana, his mouth agape, and then turned his attention to Jeannette. The banette unzipped her mouth and spat out what appeared to be a small ball of energy. It hovered in the air for a moment before she grabbed it and held it above the swirling cloth and now glowing orb.

Ana stopped swirling the cloth around the orb and called out, " _Shisha no me..."_ The orb let out a brilliant grey light and everyone in the room winced - with the exception of Ana and Jeannette. Ignace rubbed his eyes and focused back on Ana, and saw that her eyes had transformed into beacons of deep purple light. She clutched the cloth and orb to her chest and tightly closed her eyelids. Even then the light still filtered through them.

"Ana? Are you alright?" asked Ignace, taking a step forward.

"Blessings of the Origin, gifts from the Altered," she murmured.

"I'm going to guess yes then," he replied, kneeling down to put a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes opened, still wild and wide, though now mania lived behind them, with fear nowhere to be found. The warm black irises that hid her pupils had disappeared, replaced now with deep purple ones instead, marked with a curious black spiral that grew from the wide pupils of her eyes.

"Hmm," she droned, her eyes now closing slowly. "Mmmm. Jean! Unzip!" Her eyes were wide open again, her head whipping about to look at her banette so quickly it concerned Ignace.

Jean unzipped her mouth and reached into it. Down. Down. A bulge appeared in her throat as her arm snaked further down before it reversed and produced a glowing purple crystal alongside a great deal of spiraling, deep purple smoke. The banette dropped the orb into Ana's hands, who then pressed it against the curious grey crystal she still held with the cloth in her other hand. There was a soft crack and the two were now one.

"Yes. Perfect," mumbled Ana, her voice rising in pitch suddenly. "We are  _ready_!" She reached up and zipped Jeannette's mouth shut again and rubbed one of the ear-like protrusions atop her head fondly.

"Ana?" asked Ignace tentatively.

The hex maniac turned to face her lover and grinned. "Of course. The whispers are back now, but  _soon_! Soon they will explain. They will provide. The spirits will speak, and I will listen!" She strode over to him and leaned against him, her free hand tracing a circle above the orb she held in the other.

"How long exactly will this take, Ana?" asked Johannes.

"Mmm. A day. Perhaps. Two? Unsure. Murky still." She abruptly sat on the ground and snapped her fingers repeatedly. "Burn the tags, cast the ashes and read the augur!" She shouted the last word and pointed directly at d'Artagnan. "No movements here where the living still walk. Pierce the veil. Push beyond, beyond the now and what-was. Into the what-will. Tell me, bird: are you the bringer of ill omen?" As she said this, Jean responded by floating down to her trainer's level. Ana unzipped the banette's mouth again and then pointed at Ignace without looking directly at him. "Tags! I see them! Upon the walls. Poorly drawn with incantations in the tongue of common man! I require blank ones. Now."

Ignace pushed himself past the crowd in his apartment, into another room, then quickly came back again. He dropped a stack of tags next to Ana and then sat down beside her. "Here. What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the tags and the banette's smoking, unzipped mouth uneasily.

"In. Vo. King." A pause. Ana laughed madly and spread a dozen tags out on the floor in front of her. "Charles. To my side. Now." The bisharp briefly frowned at Ignace and then strode over to Ana after the detective gave him an affirming nod. Her arms moved so quickly they became a blur of purple sleeves and Ana ran the very tip of her finger across the sharp point formed by one of the blades that protruded from Charles's midsection. With the steady trickle of blood which now flowed from her fingertip, she began to write a series of strange symbols upon the tags. Each one featured different characters, shapes and glyphs, were paired with different mumbled phrases and were finalized with unique flourishing gesture each.

"Shadow of the Alpha, the Renegade's ichor: light my path and fell those who would lead me astray!" She waved her hand in a sweeping gesture across all of the tags and exhaled. In one fluid motion she scooped them up, stuffed them into Jean's mouth and zipped it shut. "More than a cloth. Better than a cloth!" She then unzipped Jeannette's mouth and removed a single, smoking tag. The paper had changed color to a curious purple and the blood writing had turned to a shimmering, silver. "A griseous augur." She beckoned the xatu towards her and gestured for him to move to a patch of floor before her. She laid the tag neatly upon the ground and waited for d'Artagnan to stand before her.

"Jeannette will burn the tag in a way that only the spirits can." She tilted her head and grinned. "And overachievers, I suppose. Jean! Burn the augur." She focused her gaze on d'Artagnan again. "And you, prove yourself worthy of your title."

" _Conduit?"_  asked the xatu, confused.

Johannes's brain felt as if it was spinning in his head, but he understood what she meant. Pokedex trivia mostly, these titles, but they were often fitting. "No.  _Mystic._ "

D'Artagnan chortled. " _Ah yes. Of course. The augur burns and the Mystic gazes into the flame. Beyond the flame, and sees at last the tapestry, illuminated anew."_

"Yesss," hissed Ana. "Fear not the dead, Mystic. The left stares into the what-was. The right…"

" _Into the what-will_." d'Artagnan drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his feathers with pride. " _Burn the augur, Vessel."_

Jean mumbled a vague protest at the title before blowing a wisp of purple flame at the tag. Slowly, lazily, it drifted to the tag and on contact it exploded into a brilliant violet gout of flame.

"You're gonna burn the apartment down!" shouted Johannes.

" _Shut up_ ," Ignace snapped. "Let them work."

The eyes upon the xatu's chest flashed a brilliant crimson and he let out a low, throbbing cry.

* * *

d'Artagnan was flying through the darkness. He caught glimpses of the outlines of buildings that resembled Lumiose and found himself being sucked with increasing speed towards the center of the city. The shapes blurred past him and then, all at once, he stopped. There, in the center of Lumoise, was a building that rose out where Prism Tower stood in the world of the living. Much of the copycat had disappeared, however, replaced instead with a swirling black void. Somewhere deep in the center he caught a glimpse of purple.

Something jerked him forward, towards the void. He flapped his wings vainly against the force - to no avail. He began to plummet into the swirling vortex of blackness and his vision went dark.

" _The Mystic, in my throne room. In_ _ **my**_   _realm. You have poor judgment."_  The voice shook d'Artagnan awake.

He struggled to his feet and found himself in a dark stone room that resembled a crypt. In the center of the room swirled a small void of black which partially obscured a stone throne. High above the throne sat a single disc of light. Every so often a plume of smoke would slip through the disc and disappear - or billow out of it. He stood defiantly before the swirling black masses that sat upon the throne, shifting in shape and bubbling and exploding into plumes of smoke.

" _Perhaps it is you that has poor judgment instead. The heart of Lumiose? How fitting, given your obsession with those of the living,"_ replied d'Artagnan coolly.

" _You know not who you speak to, insolent bird. And now you never shall, for you will be struck down where you stand!"_  replied the voice from throne. " _Worthless cur!"_

A sword exploded out of the darkness and slashed at d'Artagnan, who only just managed to throw himself upon the ground to avoid it. A moment later a shield came flying out of the darkness and struck him in the stomach. He got to his feet in time to dodge a sword that screamed out of the swirling black again. It struck the ground before him before then sped back into the safety of the smoke.

" _A sword and shield? You certainly take a traditional approach to the monarch,"_ noted d'Artagnan.

_Clang._ The shield fell short.

_Clink_. Pain. The sword hadn't.

d'Artagnan had launched himself away from the sword too late and a gash now ran along his side. He needed a way out of the crypt, but the swirling forces upon the throne pulled on his very soul and kept him grounded. He felt a tug at his back. They were trying to pull him back. Had a wound opened upon his actual body? His eyes searched the room and fell upon the shield. The patterns upon it were strangely familiar. He thought to examine it further - but then the shield was gone again, retrieved inexplicably by the sword. The tugging on his back became more insistent - as a matter of fact, thought the xatu, it was beginning to hurt more than the gash.

He stumbled back several feet, the tugging now joined by a terrible burning across his torso.  _Tags._  He looked to the throne and laughed.

" _Insolent, worthless maggot, what mockery is this?"_  boomed the harsh voice from the throne.

" _You had your chance. You were bested by strips of paper and a talking bird,"_ said d'Artagnan simply.

There was a howl of rage and the sword and shield, affixed to one another came soaring out of the dark directly at d'Artagnan. He blinked and felt himself flying backwards with mounting speed, away from the crypt, away from the rage-filled howls of the chamber, and away from the swirling black.

* * *

D'Artagnan slammed back first onto the ground and groaned.

Ricard was kneeling next to him, his chest heaving and his hands signing frantically, "D'Artagnan! Are you alright? Are you alright?"

The xatu chuckled weakly. " _Of course, Merchant. Of course."_  He got to his feet gingerly and glanced down where the gash should have been. Nothing, though he  _was_  covered in tags. " _Most curious. I was struck by a blade during my journey."_  He glanced past Ricard at Ana and added, " _A most perilous journey. Had I known this trip might have spelled my end I would have given Ricard my best._ "

Ana stared back at the xatu, her face unreadable and said flatly, "No journey is without risk. The lost and the damned are vengeful, hateful, and fearful. The risks, you already knew them."

Ricard looked mortified, but d'Artagnan instead laughed in earnest. " _Why would a Mystic need to be forewarned of danger? Much less the danger of walking into the house that damnation built."_

The accountant pulled the xatu into an embrace, rubbing his head gently.

" _O-ho. It would seem I am owed my winnings, Merchant."_  He brought a wing up awkwardly and tapped his Trainer's back in consolation. An imitation of a human gesture, but effective all the same.

Ricard pulled away from d'Artagnan, wiping his eyes and signed, "Of course. I should have known better than to bet against a xatu."

" _It was you that believed it wise, not I. Really, did you expect common cinema to move me to tears?"_  asked d'Artagnan.

"At the risk of looking like an asshole for interrupting, that was a hell of a thing to watch d'Artagnan," interjected Ignace. "Thought things had gone to shit when you started, uh… _leaking.'_ "

The xatu clicked his beak in confusion. " _Explain."_

"Wounds among the dead tear the spirit. Harms our will. Damaged, it must escape. From the eyes, the mouth, the ears and nose. Smoke black with death," explained Ana. "But you are well. What did you see, Mystic? What did the fires reveal to you?"

" _Not the tapestry. I was pulled from it, I believe. Pulled from everything. Sucked into the center of that mockery of Lumiose that the Merchant, Mortician and Blade saw alongside me. Into a room. A throne room. There I met our monarch- the Ghost King. No more than a collection of black smoke and bubbling shapelessness. Ethereal. He was there and yet...not."_

D'Artagnan glanced around the room at the worried expressions on everyone's faces and continued, " _But his blade was. So too was his shield. Thrust out at me, one by one. Both at once. He is formidable."_

Ana cut in. "The smoke. The shapelessness. Was there light? Any at all? Was the smoke billowing out or in? Both?"

" _There was a disc. It blew out smoke and sucked it in. And...it emitted light."_

"A portal?" asked Ana.

" _I am not sure. That begs some investigation."_  d'Artagnan paused and thought back to the shield on the ground and how it flew at him, attached to the sword. " _I remember the shield...the patterns."_  He fell silent. " _Three swirls of brass that ring around black holes. Filled with the purple light we have come to associate with the departed. So...familiar."_

"It should be, I think. If you've ever seen one before, anyway. Even in pokedexes or books," interjected Johannes. The entire room turned to look at him. He shrunk somewhat. "I mean, that pattern d'Artagnan mentioned. The sword. The shield.

"That's an aegislash."


	12. Chapter 12

Ignace crossed his arms and gave Johannes a confused look. "Did you say that it was an  _aegislash_?" He looked away long enough to glance at Ana - she had fallen silent, and simply sat upon the floor, rubbing Jean's head with a far off look in her eyes.

The researcher nodded. "Yeah. Given the description d'Artagnan just gave us, it'd  _have_  to be an aegislash." He paused and furrowed his brow. "I just don't know  _why_  an aegislash would be behind this."

Viola frowned. " _Dear, is a trip to the library in order? Or perhaps you could make a call and discuss this matter with someone who may have more to offer back in Celestic?"_

He shook his head and began to pace. "I don't think anyone in Celestic is going to have much to offer. Aegislash isn't exactly high on their list of pokemon to study. Not to say that they don't have complex and interesting histories and folklore associated with them, but…" He trailed off and tapped his chin. "Hmm. Folklore…" Johannes began to pace the room and then stopped and grabbed Viola's hand. "I've got some digging to do, and maybe a few books to peruse. Let's go, Viola." The gardevoir obliged him, but as the two made to leave the room, Ignace held out a hand to stop them.

"Hey, don't just say a bunch of half-formed shit and then trundle off. What are you gonna do?" he asked, a twinge of annoyance in his tone. He had knelt down to study Ana and shone a penlight in her eyes - her pupils contracted, but her eyes had otherwise locked in place and did not respond to Ignace's stimulus.

Johannes apologized. "I need to dig into the history of aegislash. I could also do with looking up the current pokedex data we have available about them." He shrugged at the look on Ignace's and Ricard's faces. "It's the best place to start when it comes to getting a few bread crumbs about where to go next." He pointed at Jean. "Consider the Shuppet line. There's still a fair bit of mystery surrounding them, like any ghost type, but we know that Banette don't become lifeless dolls if their zippers are pulled open."

Ricard looked to d'Artagnan and nodded, then began signing, and the bird's voice rang out in the room. " _The Merchant wishes to extend his own personal stock of books to you, Errant. He believes you will find it illuminating, if perhaps not as penetrative as you may be hoping."_

Johannes smiled. "Thanks a bunch Ricard. That'll help us out quite a bit. First things first though." He dug into his pocket and removed his pokedex and flipped through it to the Honedge line. "Hrmm…" He mouthed a few words and then the color drained from his face. "This Ghost King, I mean, this aegislash - who do you  _know_  is working for him?"

Ignace snapped his fingers in front of Ana, and upon receiving no response, sighed and said, "Well, a gengar, we know that much. Some kind of vicious little bastard too. A sneasel or weavile, was my deduction. Maybe the dusknoir too, what with them attacking you and I."

"You have no idea just how many?" pressed Johannes.

With a shrug, the detective considered Ana again - she stared forward into infinity through her boyfriend; her eyes were glassy, her jaw hung slack, and a strange, raspy rhythm of sharp breaths left her mouth. Plumes of purple smoke, rising in spirals, began to snake out of the corners of her mouth. Ignace took hold of her shoulders and shook her once.

Johannes could not help but notice the strangely impassive look upon Ignace's face. It all seemed so  _routine_  to him. Especially for someone who had mentioned being rather poor with the supernatural."Well, just listen to this, alright?" He cleared his throat and read:

" _Generations of kings were attended by these Pokémon, which used their spectral power to manipulate and control people and Pokémon."_

Ignace looked away from Ana long enough to look Johannes in the eyes. "Alright, so he can mind control people is what you're saying? A fuckin' sword is out there takin' control of heads?"

With some hesitation, Johannes shrugged. "It's possible. Again, pokedex entries aren't exactly  _infallible._  There's tons of inaccuracies because people love their folklore and supernatural explanations for mundane things, and we tend to mix that into the more scientific entries. The harder a pokemon is to understand, the less we know about them because of their typing, rarity or what have you, the more likely you are to run into really outlandish descriptions." He paused and looked to Viola, who stared back, concern etched on her face. "It's a lead worth investigating. But it's also entirely possible that it's a complete dud. The odds are pretty stacked against it. If aegislash could control people, it'd completely throw a wrench in everything we know about our history. We'd have no way of knowing what was done by people of their own volition or not."

Ignace helped - or rather dragged - Ana to her feet and threw an arm around her to support her weight. He pulled her arm around to his shoulder opposite of her and made to march and drag her from the room. "Get investigating, I'll be back to help. I've got some shit to deal with first, though." He turned his attention to Ricard and said slowly, "I'm taking her to your apartment and dumping her on your couch. I'll be back in a bit."

Ricard read his friend's lips and then held out a key with a nod. Ignace took it from him and departed from the room.

Johannes looked uneasy. "What was wrong with her? There was smoke coming out of her mouth," he asked the deaf-mute and xatu.

Next to him, Viola shivered and nodded in agreement. " _She looked most unwell."_

Ricard sighed and glanced at d'Artagnan meaningfully before he began to sign, "My experiences with Ana as she is now are lacking, but Ignace has nevertheless told me a great deal about what it was like dealing with her as she is, and as she was when you first met her."

Viola's eyes widened. " _There was a strange presence in the room. An unusual chill as well. What on earth happened to her?"_

The xatu flapped its wings and ruffled its feather, fluffing itself out somewhat before continuing. " _She has tapped into something beyond this mortal coil. Into the realm of the spirits, where the damned walk and wait."_

Ricard nodded his head, and continued signing, adding on: "Her abilities are rather useful. And rather dangerous. The augur she created and burnt, the ability she has to tap into what lies beyond, the fact that she can create repelling tags of immense strength - all of this has been gifted to her by careful study, and empowered by that strange orb she had." He paused and furrowed his brow. His hands had caught mid-sign, as if he was unsure if he should proceed.

He gave a tiny shrug and then added, "It is not without sacrifice. The human mind is not meant to bridge the gap between the realm of the living and dead. It is taxing. It is...damaging. Ana's dark eyes, constant stutter and demure disposition could be explained away as common shyness to the common man - but are in fact products of the many times she invoked the spirits of the beyond. We believe that perhaps Jeannette is responsible for absorbing some of the damage that Ana would otherwise incur. Theories state that these so-called 'hex maniacs' are likely delayed in accumulating genuinely harmful damage to their person by their ghost pokemon, and Jean would be no different in aiding Ana as such."

"Hold on, something's missing here," said Johannes. " _How_  exactly is this affecting her appearance and personality and...everything?"

D'Artagnan chuckled. " _Errant, do you believe us to be omniscient? My Sight is clouded as-is. I could not offer you insight into why the Priestess is ailed so by her abilities."_

Ricard nodded in agreement and signed, "We can only guess, Johannes. Perhaps her powers drain the body of life. Perhaps ghost energy is dangerous to human tissue. Perhaps her very soul tears open a bit further each time she uses her powers. And each time, the tear lets in more of the other side. More death. After all, Ignace has noted that her abilities have only become more prodigious with time. I expect he will be rather distraught over what it is she did this time. She's never made an augur before that functioned as well as this one has."

" _Augurs are...they're prophecies, yes?'_  interjected Viola. " _How can a human make some sort of prophecy using ghost energies? Isn't that usually relegated to the realm of our energies?"_ She gestured between herself and the xatu.

"Those that dabble in the dark arts of hex magic, ghost energy,  _occultism_ in general," explained Ricard, "have been sought after for their ability to communicate with the departed. Many believe that in the wishes and warnings of the departed we can divine a future that can be pursued by the living."

A muffled shriek echoed from Ricard's apartment across the hall and into Ignace's apartment. The four of them all turned to look at the door in alarm and then dashed from the room. Ricard made it into his apartment first, with the rest following closely behind. They were greeted with the sight of Ana's figure lying upon Ricard's couch, her arms swatting at the air above her. Her pale face was streaked with tears, and she was mumbling a stream of horrified nonsense.

Ignace's efforts to console her had clearly failed, but he continued to try nonetheless. "Ana, please, there's nothing there. It's alright," he whispered. "Just listen to me, please."

Johannes looked on at the detective, whom he had known only to be gruff and curt following their introduction. It was sweet, and yet, unusual. The two hardly seemed made for each other. Of course, he thought wryly, neither did he and Viola. "Is she alright?" asked the researcher. "Do you need our help?"

The shriek was unearthly. Ana's eyes went as wide as saucers and she turned her head in their direction, screaming and pointing at them, at the ceiling, Ignace, the floor - everything. The stream of nonsense that came from her mouth made Viola wince, and she looked at d'Artagnan, her face lined with horror.

" _I can understand some of that gibberish."_

The xatu let out a low croon and scratched the ground nervously. " _The Merchant mentioned something about a tear in the soul. Perhaps there is more credence to that theory than I initially surmised."_

Ignace gave the group standing behind him a look that seemed to mix disdain, exhaustion and worry, and then pulled Ana up into a sitting position so he could sit beside her. He pulled her into an embrace, staying her flailing, swatting arms with practiced expertise and pulled her close to his chest.

The shrieking stopped almost instantly, caught on the the choking sound of a sob, and then Ana began to cry hysterically into his chest.

Johannes felt sick to his stomach. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't know I should be quiet. Really, I'm sorry."

Ricard shook his head and signed, "There is no need. You could not have known. None of us could have. I doubt even Ignace would have known to tell you to remain quiet."

With some hesitation, Johannes approached Ignace and whispered, "Is...is she going to be alright?" The detective glanced up at Johannes and nodded once.

"It's a bit worse than an episode she had last time, but then again, it's been a little over two years," he explained, his voice low. "Go get some research done. Much as I appreciate your concern, I'd rather be alone with Ana." He eyed Jean, sitting on Charles' shoulder, both of them staring intently at their trainers, and added, "Mostly alone, anyway. Go. I've got a lotta shit on my plate to take care of tonight and I'd like whatever info you can get when I head out."

Johannes nodded and turned about, gesturing to his wife, Ricard, and d'Artagnan to move to the adjacent room where Ricard's study and library was. "Ignace is right, we've got some research to do. And I've got a few questions to ask you Ricard." He pointed at the accountant, a serious look in his eyes.

Ricard scratched his cheek. He had a feeling he knew exactly what the question was. They walked into his study, where bookshelves lined all four walls, and Ricard closed the door behind him with a loud snap. Display cases of particularly rare finds sat atop pedestals and peppered the room in an attractive circular pattern. He gave Johannes a self-satisfied smirk and signed, "Impressive, isn't it?"

" _The Merchant always was one for showing off his hobbies. Or rather, the depths to which his considerable wealth permits him to indulge in them."_  D'Artagnan's voice bore a somewhat amused tone, and he flapped his wings and shook his head to fluff his feathers. " _Doubtless he will regale you with many a tale of each tome's history."_

Ricard chuckled, a raspy, wheezing affair, and signed, "D'Artagnan is just as proud of this sizable collection as I am, having read a fair bit of it himself."

The xatu clicked his beak cheerfully in response.

Johannes was only half-listening. He had been floored by the collection of books Ricard owned. The questions he had about "Daniel" were shoved to the back of his head as he perused the shelves. "Pokemon behavior report compilations...wow, some of these lines are rare…" he mumbled to himself. He tapped their spines one by one, his eyes scanning the gold numbers embossed upon them. "Two-hundred and eighty dash two-hundred and eighty-two…" He smiled and pulled the book from the shelf.

" _It would seem, Merchant, that our explanations have fallen upon deaf ears,"_  remarked d'Artagnan.

Ricard gave another raspy laugh and signed, "Translate for me then, d'Artagnan. Johannes, it seems you've been rather taken by my collection of behavioral reports. I hope that report is for the Honedge line."

Johannes fumbled with the book and gave the deaf-mute a sheepish grin. "Uh, r-right. Sorry, I forgot myself for a moment." He handed the book to Viola and then continued reading the spines of the scores of books upon the walls. A few minutes later, he called out, "Got it. As good a place as any to start, I think." He returned to Viola, and found she had begun flipping through the book, a somewhat confused expression on her face.

" _Dear, why do you desire a book filled with reports about my line? I would imagine you to be a bit of an authority on this by now,"_  she said. Her expression shifted to a sly one. " _You_ are  _married to a gardevoir, are you not?"_

Johannes smiled in response and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. "That, I very happily am." He took the book from her and stacked it atop the one he was holding on the Honedge line. "Alright, let me pick through this then," he said more to Ricard. "I hope I'll find something, but first…"

Ricard's smile faded. "Yes?" he signed. Behind him, d'Artagnan's own echoing chortles died, and the xatu turned his attention to Johannes as well.

The researcher frowned. "You stopped smiling." The accountant did not respond, but rather continued to look Johannes in the eyes. "Right. I guess I'm not going to get an answer to what I'm about to ask?"

The resulting pause stretched long enough that Johannes began to fidget and glance about the room. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then back, and as he opened his mouth to press the inquiry, Ricard signed, "It is less a matter of receiving an answer, and more a matter of just how complete the answer you receive shall be."

There was another pause and then Johannes said, "Why are you telling me that? Now I'm going to assume you're not giving me the whole truth. I thought I was here to help in any way I could, so why the need for secrets? I mean…" He pointed out of the room, out of the apartment, into Ignace's, where he witnessed the strange ritual Ana performed. "You let me watch  _that_. Trusted me with that kind of knowledge."

Ricard tapped his chin and then looked to d'Artagnan. The xatu scratched at the gleaming wood floor nervously and then said, " _Ask your question."_

Johannes looked between the man and the xatu and then sighed. "Ana called Ignace a different name. Daniel."

Ricard nodded.

"So Ignace is actually named Daniel. What's his real last name then?" asked Johannes.

" _Winters,"_  replied d'Artagnan.

"Why did he change his name?"

Ricard replied this time, signing, "Personal safety. He narrowly escaped with his and Ana's lives from Unova."

Viola gave a start and chimed in. " _I remember finding vague memories of Ana in Ignace's - um, Daniel's memories."_  She focused on the scraps of memory she could bring to the surface of her thoughts, on the image of Ana looking back at who Viola believed was Daniel. She was sitting upon a bed and nude - beyond her was a glowing window that revealed the tops of buildings cast in the orange glow of a sunset. " _They come from some city in Unova, yes?"_

Ricard nodded once.

"Wait, wait, wait," interjected Johannes. "Why exactly did he leave Unova? You said personal safety, but that doesn't explain anything. What was he running from? Or Ana? The both of them?"

The accountant threw his xatu a sideways glance, and so d'Artagnan said, " _The Mortician has made enemies of the wrong sort of folk. The rest is not ours to say."_

Johannes set the books he was carrying atop a nearby display case just to be able to cross his arms. His face twisted into an annoyed frown. "That's a load of tauros shit if I ever heard it." He pointed out of the room, past the closed door. "That guy is out there, introducing himself as a detective and - is he  _actually_  a detective even?"

" _Private investigator."_

"Oh great, so...what you're saying is, I was lied to, but to what extent, I have no idea? How do I know I didn't get myself embroiled in some kind of crazy set of circumstances that you're all just trying to take advantage of? I'm a foreigner, a Sinnohan at that; I'm a perfect punching bag, scapegoat, whatever you need me to be here in a foreign land. Why couldn't he be direct? Any of you? What the hell is he hiding that he ran from? What if that's what's chased him here? I don't know if he went and pissed off some ghost and it went and followed him."

" _Please see sense, Errant. There are a great many facts you yourself can confirm. You were attacked by a dusknoir, heard my account of the Ghost King, recognized the unusual coincidences between old, unverified lore and the true identity of this hidden monarch… Why, tonight the Mortician has work to do, and if you wish, you can accompany him."_

"Well, yeah, but…" He paused. D'Artagnan had him there. For what it was worth, Daniel had only been helpful. If they intended to use him for something, then they had planned a long con. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I'm digging into this. I'm not going out with Daniel tonight, that could be exactly what he wants. I'm taking these books, going back to my hotel and drawing my own conclusions. I need pictures, diagrams, everything you've got about this case that could be considered supernatural."

Ricard gave the researcher a small smile and signed, "It is astonishing the kind of diligence that doubt can engender in the mind."

" _It does very little to mount an effective argument for your side. There is no reason for us to trust anything you've told us, and if what you say is completely true, you've still lied to us."_  Viola frowned and looked d'Artagnan specifically in the eyes. " _Why would you do that? The truth would have kept any of this from happening in the first place. We didn't need_ more  _doubt."_

Johannes scowled. "I'm a researcher. I've already made the mistake of not doing my due diligence once. I'm catching the next plane out of here if I find out I've made it a second time." With that, he scooped up the books and made for the door.

The door opened as if on cue, and revealed Ignace. He put a finger to his lips and stepped inside, then closed the door behind him with a soft snap. "She's passed out. Should be fine; Jean knows how to take care of her almost as well as I do, and she's got Charles for back-up anyway. Find out anything, Johannes?"

"Yeah, I want to know why the hell you lied to me," said the researcher at once.

Daniel rocked on his feet for a moment and then shrugged. "Ana never was good about keeping assumed names." He chuckled. "Been Ignace since I landed here in Lumiose. Only made sense to keep everyone believing so." At the look on Johannes's face, he added, somewhat irritated, "Oh, don't give me that shit. You know damn well it doesn't matter if my name is Ignace or Fuckface, I'm trying to get a job done."

"You could have been honest about your  _name_! That's kind of an important thing to be honest about, don't you think? Doesn't really set the stage to consider you trustworthy if you have to lie about even that," replied Johannes.

With a sigh, Daniel leaned against the door and stuck his hands in his pockets. "And I had to keep up the façade in the event you happened to be someone sent after me to fuckin' kill me."

" _Kill you?"_ asked Viola in alarm. " _You're a wanted criminal, a liar...what else? Are you also a murderer?"_

Daniel chuckled. "No, nothing like that." He paused and shrugged. "Not anymore anyway. Came a time I was a criminal. Did things I'm not proud of." Johannes and Viola both balked. He jerked his thumb at the door he leaned against. "And she's the reason I got out. Met her during a routine collection run from the businesses we 'protected' and now we're here."

Johannes chewed on his tongue for a minute before he said, "You're leaving stuff out. A lot of stuff."

With a groan the detective threw his hands into the air in defeat. "What do you want? The specifics? I'm not opposed to coming out and saying I lied to you. I'm not opposed to coming out and saying that I used to be a wanted criminal that probably has a bounty on his head from my old organization. But I don't know what the fuck else you want to know."

Johannes pointed at the door himself and said, "I want to know why the hell you ran away with Ana. Something tells me criminal organizations don't put bounties on your head for running away."

With a hollow laugh, Daniel replied, "Oh, you have no idea how this shit works at all do ya, Jo? You've got to have watched television, read about gangs, know  _something_  about them, right? You don't get out whenever you want, and you sure as fuck do not try to get out with one of the most helpful hex maniacs your gang's ever had. You're gods-damned right they put a bounty, a hit - whatever the fuck it took - out on me."

"Was what Ana just did back there just a common occurrence to you back in Unova then, or something?" asked Johannes, incredulous.

"Nothing quite like this. But they have you talk to the dead quite a bit. Only problem is hex maniacs are equal parts made and born." He put his hands behind his head and sighed. "You're born a medium. Got a few more drops of ghost shit in you than the average Joe does. Not quite a psychic, you don't manipulate shit and make forks bend, but you can talk up a gastly that's got human tongue down pretty good. You form a bond, and then when you've blown apart everyone in the rival gang's hideout of the week, you send the gastly or banette or whatever you want, off to ask the newly dead pokemon a few questions.

"You don't get long, and it's not pretty. Dead men tell no tales, but dead 'mon tell  _bad_ ones. They're too fucked up and fading away into the other side to give you more than a few seconds time to answer questions. But, if you get yourself a ghost-type, you can have them bite on their contrail of ghost essence and drag 'em back into the world of the living as a spectre for a minute or two so you can get some meaningful questions in. You make up some tags and anchor them with your own willpower or spirit or whatever.

"After a while, you're not a medium anymore. Doing this does something to you. Hurts your soul. Fucks with your head. Gives you them spiral eyes. It just…" He paused and cleared his throat. "Starts to make you crazy. You don't sleep right anymore 'cos you can't stop having nightmares. People start scaring you, loved ones turn into monsters in the dark, your own ghost-type starts to look like some kind of fucked up mutant in your eyes. Lots of screaming.  _Too_ much screaming. Some of it is in a language I don't understand. Guys called the weird tongues the mediums started speaking in, right before they went crazy anyway, 'hell whispers' and eventually, 'hell shouts.' The looks you see on their face, their sunken eyes - seems like that's where they've been dragged to. Becoming a 'shouter" usually meant you had a maniac now.

"A few of the guys liked some of the maniacs. Didn't fight back no matter  _what_  you did." His fists clenched and he grit his teeth. "Broke a lot of jaws keeping Ana safe."

Johannes shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. "Right, running from a gang you skipped out on, I get it now," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Running from a gang I skipped out on with a very helpful asset," corrected Daniel. "Didn't exactly leave a pretty present on their doorstep either." Daniel pulled his shirt off and spread his arms. "Look."

Scars of various lengths, some of the slashes, some punctures where he'd be stabbed, ran across his chest, stomach, sides and arms.

"I didn't get all of these  _just_  doing typical gang shit. I was good at knife-fighting. It's what we did. What we were known for. I got most of these the day I left." He pulled his shirt back on and grimaced. "Good exchange if you ask me. I'll take a dozen scars over four bodies." He began to pace around the room, eyeing books now and again; he paused and pulled one from the shelf and tucked it under his arm, then returned to the doorway.

Johannes cleared his throat, even more uncomfortable now and bowed his head. "I'm going to get what I can out of these books. Where are you headed tonight?" he asked, his tone sheepish.

" _Quartier rouge._  Sewers in the area, specifically." Daniel scratched his shoulder idly. "Mmm, might be worth it to ask around if anyone's seen anything suspicious too. I've got a few contacts in the  _rouge_  that I can tap. What do you think, Ricard?"

The accountant furrowed his brow and took his time mulling over his response before responding in sign, "Wouldn't be a terrible idea. Though I would be wary the time you're in the  _rouge_. It is difficult to say when we are being tracked and when we are not. We've had no indication from d'Artagnan or the tags that other ghost-types have taken up an interest in our homes, but that doesn't mean that we can't be tracked by other means. We have yet to find that vicious, blue-furred something or other that those hairs betrayed."

" _Be careful, Mortician. The lap of debauchery is unsafe at the best of times."_  Daniel gave the xatu a smirk and nodded.

"Viola, let's go. Do you mind if we pore over this stuff in your kitchen, Ign- uh, Daniel?" asked Johannes.

Ricard raised an eyebrow and looked from d'Artagnan to Johannes. "I was under the impression that you wished to cover these tomes at your hotel," he signed.

" _He feels a bit embarrassed and guilty over his outburst,"_  said Viola, cutting across Johannes. " _And I must admit, so do I."_ She inclined her head at Daniel. " _I still have my doubts…"_  She cupped a hand to her husband's face. " _And my worries. But they are now solely focused on this case, not any of you."_

Daniel let out a single, dry laugh. "Good to hear. Wish most people were this reasonable about being lied to." He grumbled something unintelligible and scratched at his chest. "Look, I realize I lied to you both about who I am," he began, looking from Johannes to Viola and back again, "But other than that, everything else is true. I wouldn't have asked Ricard to spend as much as he did on you two if I was just trying to pull something shifty."

Johannes nodded.

"That said, there's an awful lot I couldn't tell you because we just don't fucking know it yet. So crack those books. I'll try to help out myself while I tend to Ana," he said, his tone brisk and matter-of-fact. "With any luck we'll find something worth using."

He turned on the spot and marched out of the room. Johannes followed after him and glanced at Ana's sleeping figure. She had drawn her knees up closer to her chest and laid sideways on the couch, clutching Jeanette to her breast. Though her eyes were closed, her expression betrayed discomfort and fear, and her brows furrowed and unfurrowed without rhythm. The banette stared out from above her Trainer's arms, her expression impassive.

" **Are you...alright?"**  whispered Viola, gliding over to the banette to kneel before her. In light of being forgiving to Daniel, she figured she should make an effort to forgive Jeanette for her less than pleasant comments on her marriage to Johannes.

Jean shifted her gaze from the infinite expanse that stretched out beyond her to the gardevoir kneeling a few feet away. If only she knew, thought Jean. She was  _more_  than alright. The arms of her Trainer felt like how humans described home: somewhere warm and comfortable. " **Yes. Ana needs something,** _ **someone**_ **to cling to for comfort."**  Her eyes tracked Daniel as he put on a pot of coffee and set out a few pastries - and then slapped away Charles's hand as he tried to take five for himself. She outright smiled as the detective stuffed his other hand into his mouth to fight down the urge to shout in pain for being dense enough to smack a metal gauntlet away.

" **Idiot over there can't offer much right now because he's** _ **too busy**_ **. Not that it matters to me, of course. Used to doing this. Glad I can help Ana in all the ways I can."**  Her gaze shifted back to Viola and she smirked. " **But now is not the time for talking. Might wake her up and the screaming will be** _ **dreadful**_   **if we do. Talk later? Good. Don't be a stranger, I've got** _ **quite**_ **a few questions I want to ask you."**

Viola felt a curious shiver run up her spine. " **Ah, y-yes, certainly."** She glided back over to the door where Johannes was waiting, clutching the stack of books he'd taken from Ricard's library, atop which sat a tray laden with four cups of coffee and a plate of pastries.

" _I hope your ability to perform research is up to par, Embrace,"_  said d'Artagnan.

Viola smiled and bowed her head, somewhat sheepish. " _It is...lacking,"_  she admitted.

"It's fine. We don't have too many books to pick through, judging from what Ricard has too," noted Johannes. The deaf-mute held only a single book at his side and nodded.

" _The Merchant's tomes are varied and broach a wide variety of subjects - but their ability to penetrate far into any of them is, admittedly, limited,"_  explained the xatu.

"Anything is better than nothing," mumbled Daniel. The four all turned to look at the detective. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book of his own in the other. His face seemed to bear a set of fresh lines beneath his eyes, and made him look five years older. "Let's get this shit done. I want Ana out of this hex shit as soon as possible. Get reading, I'll keep her under control and do what I can on my end. Doubt I'll get much out of this thing though." He held the book up and read the faded gold embossed letters upon the cover: " _Roi, Hommes et Pokémon: A Study In Kalosian Monarchy, Volume 1: The Old Kings._ " He grimaced and added in a grumble, "Text is smaller than a joltik's dick."

Johannes raised an eyebrow. "How would you know?" he asked.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "I don't need those kinds of questions from the pokephile. He might be serious." He smirked and waved them off. "Figure out what you can." He turned about and groaned. "Charles, for the love of- well at least you saved me  _one._ " A quiet growl of apology hung in the air as the deaf-mute, the researcher, the gardevoir and the xatu left Ricard's apartment and crossed over into Daniel's.

* * *

Johannes rubbed his eyes. The section of the book that dealt with aegislash had report after report of their documented behaviors, and the closest he'd found that could help was the odd incidence of ambitions - delusions really - in a subject to achieve some grand plan. It was generally observed in the older subjects that were studied, and there we some theories that the aegislash were possibly old enough to remember (even vaguely) the old kingdoms. Perhaps the pokedex entries weren't pure fiction after all, but this did not explain this so-called Ghost King. Hearts upon pillars and strange occult magics meshed well with the seals Ricard and d'Artagnan had explained to him.

He looked up from his book. "Are all of these seals these tiny little markings? You said one of them was a manhole cover, right?" he asked those seated at the table.

Ricard looked up from his own book and tapped his chin as d'Artagnan translated. He signed, "That is correct. The seals have so far been tiny markings and the seal upon the manhole cover. Why do you ask?"

Johannes stood up and excused himself. "I'll be right back, I have to ask Daniel for something."

Five minutes later he was back in his seat and flipping through photographs - and accompanied by Daniel, who sat down at the table without a word. "Anyway, it's just a bit...odd, don't you think? A manhole cover? That's manmade. I mean, I'm not one to discount the power of ghost magic, but...couldn't his seal be in plain sight? After all, you've said yourselves that it has yet to be filled with the proper mark of a king, but everything else for it to be a proper mark is in place. The borders and what not. What if that's this aegislash's intent? What if his sigil is intentionally empty so he can mark anything he wants in bold, obvious ways without anyone knowing?"

d'Artagnan chimed in, " _Hmm. Excellent observation, Errant. Very astute. That is certainly something that would be worth relaying to the Mortician."_  Next to him, Ricard nodded. " _That said however, there is also one other issue to address concerning my trip through the world of the damned - as well as the trip I took with the Merchant, Blade and Mortician a week ago."_

" _Prism Tower, though you could hardly call it as such, has appeared both times as a strange ruin. It is worth investigating the tower for what information we can gather from it, as it is clearly of some importance to this King."_

Daniel considered what the xatu and researcher said and chewed his tongue. "Well for what it's worth, I didn't get shit outta my book. And I'm guessing neither did you." He pointed at Ricard.

Ricard shook his head, signing all the while, "Fascinating though it was, I have nothing of note to offer."

The detective heaved himself from his chair. "Change of plans. Not gonna go dig through sewers tonight." He held his hand out to Johannes and gestured to the photos. "Time to play a little matching game. I'll head to Prism Tower first while it's still light out and visitor hours are still on. After that I'll comb through some brothels in the  _rouge._  Maybe tap a few contacts there and see if they can't point me in the right direction."

"Anything we should be doing while you're doing all of this?" asked Johannes.

Daniel considered him for a moment before glancing to Viola, around to Ricard and then back to Johannes. "Ricard can stay here with d'Artagnan and help take care of Ana and pick through more information. You'll come with me and Charles to Prism Tower and the  _rouge._ " He paused and furrowed his brow. "You know how to drive right?"

Johannes nodded. "I don't do it much, but yeah, I can."

"Good. First stop is a car rental service."

The researcher looked alarmed. "Wait, what? Why do we need a car?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Not risking drifblim on another aerial escape. Sure as fuck not inviting you to have a repeat of flying around on your skarmory either. The car is in case we need to get away fast from something that's gone tits up. It's not likely to happen, but the fact is, it just might." Daniel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Got it?"

"I just don't… I… I'm not so sure about this. Is all this necessary? Seems a tad extreme. You're just asking around, right?" asked Johannes, fidgeting with the C-Gear strapped to his wrist.

" _I would also like to know that,"_  interjected Viola. " _This seems rather...excessive. Aren't we simply visiting a tower and then asking around a few-"_

"Asking around a few brothels. Brothels are legal only so far as they follow the law. Human meat only, no pokemon."

"But you said-" began Johannes.

"Oh come on Jo. You've got to be putting this all together in your head now. You're a smart guy. Lumiose is the city of double-standards. I explained it back at your hotel, nothing's changed since then. Or did you think I was exaggerating?"

The researcher looked at ground and mumbled something indistinct.

"Poor bastard," said Daniel. "You actually thought I was exaggerating? I lied about my name Jo, not how this city fuckin' functions. I know how to navigate the underworld. But something goes wrong and these brothels will turn nasty fast. Paying off the police keeps their gaze passin' over you if you're offering up something for the weirdos - no offense - but the second you fuck up and violence breaks out you can kiss your ass and everything in your fucking building goodbye."

He scowled and sat back in his chair. "I'd be starting fights nonstop trying to shut every one of those shitholes down if they didn't grow back faster than tangela vines."

Johannes inclined his head. "Right. Sorry, I guess…" He paused and chuckled in spite of himself. "This was a nice vacation, you know?" He grasped Viola's hand with his own and brought it to his cheek - the gardevoir caressed it in kind, her brow furrowed and mouth turned down into a frown. "The city is...beautiful."

"Was," signed Ricard.

"There's an old saying this poetic bastard over here taught me," replied Daniel, gesturing to Ricard. "It goes:  _"La ville des lumières brûle un rouge vif. Des roses à l'aube. Du vin à midi. Du sang au crépuscule._ "

Johannes and Viola alike looked dumbfounded. "What does that even  _mean_?" asked the researcher.

"Means this city ain't nearly as pretty as you think it is."


	13. Chapter 13

In mild confusion, Johannes glanced around the lobby of Prism Tower and then to Viola, who shrugged at him. Daniel had taken off the moment they'd entered, stopping long enough to tell Johannes to distract the attendant, before leaving the researcher and his wife to loiter around after disappearing with Charles through a door labeled "maintenance." The couple watched the odd Trainer enter and speak to the attendant now and again, before they were handed a wristband, and told to wait to be called to take the Gym challenge.

He felt Viola lean against him and rest her head on his shoulder. " _Are you worried?"_  she asked, her tone mellow.

"A bit," replied Johannes in an undertone. "But Daniel seems pretty confident now and has a plan. We've got the mega stones if we need them. An escape vehicle too. And we don't have to go into the brothel, just wait." He took hold of her hand and wove his fingers between hers with practiced expertise. "But overall...I think we'll be fine." She squeezed his hand back and let out a soft sigh.

Worry remained balled in their chests - a tangled net of brambles that tightened and loosened as revelations and mysteries alike arose, but now, with their enemy known and some sort of plan buzzing about Daniel's head, it was the loosest it had felt in the last several days.

But still the thorns pricked at their hearts.

* * *

The four emerged from Daniel's apartment and began their trek towards the rental service. "Rent a car, visit the tower, hit the  _rouge_. That's all we're doing, right?" asked Johannes. His eyes swept across the sparsely populated streets - odd for a late afternoon.

"That's it. Now get a move on, we have to make it to the tower before it closes," replied Daniel.

"Why does it close at sundown?" said Johannes.

"League reasons. Some idiots tried to pull something stupid to skip the gym challenge by sneaking in and waiting at the uppermost floor and then pretending they'd made it up there by coming out of a maintenance shaft or something."

The researcher laughed. "That's...that's extremely stupid."

"The League challenge takes all kinds. Hot shots, one-tricks and ten-year olds with nothing but a rattata - you're all in."

Their voices began to die out as they moved further and further away, and two red eyes blinked into existence in the foliage of a tree. A grin spread slowly across the ether before a gengar materialized. Terrence had been right to pick this tree to stake out the apartment, and it was worth what pain it caused his (now mostly healed) leg.

 _The tower - Prism Tower. Only tower that was also a gym,_  he thought. He looked towards the horizon and saw the tip of the building crest over every other building that surrounded it. The grin on his face widened and he set off, darting from shadow to shadow as fast as his ethereal form would allow.

Soon he'd have his answers and be free from his service to the King. His grin twisted into a scowl.

Good riddance.

* * *

Daniel wound his way through the dimly lit maintenance tunnels and hallways, descending staircase after staircase. Hisses of steam escaping punctuated the relative silence of the narrow pathways and made him jump. The walls were pulsing, he swore it, and each beat of his heart made them pulse harder, threatening to draw closer and consume him. An excess of hot steam at his side sent him barreling back up the path, up several sets of stairs. He paused, panting, doubled over and swearing, and looked at Charles. The bisharp seemed unperturbed.

Daniel slapped his face and shook off the fear as best he could. It draped itself over his body a second later. "Fucking tunnels. Fucking tiny ass cheapskate construction hard to navigate claustrophobia-triggering cunting fucking tunnels." Another pipe vented steam and he shouted, "FUCK. OFF."

He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled a map from his pocket. The display flickered to life and showed him the tunnels that comprised the sewers. He shivered and began flipping through the device, trying to find plans for the maintenance tunnels. After several minutes he stopped, stomped his foot and cursed his own jittery hands and racing mind. There was no reason at all for him to have blueprints of these tunnels. He shoved the device away into his pocket and beckoned for Charles to continue following.

Several minutes, loud swears and another break up a few flights of stairs later, Daniel found himself at a locked door marked "SEWER ACCESS." He furrowed his brow. "Strange," he mumbled to himself, "We went down a lot of fuckin' stairs, how are we not way under the sewers?" He pulled his Xtransceiver from his pocket and checked its display - no reception. "Of course. I'll have to head back up until I can ping Ricard. But first…" He grasped the doorknob and shook it.  _Not even a millimeter of give._  He pressed his shoulder to the door and gave it several shoves.  _Door's god damn solid too._  "Charles, give this door a punch right in the center."

The bisharp nodded and drew his fist back. With a loud, sharp grunt of exertion his gauntleted fist connected squarely with the metal door - an earsplitting metallic echo rang out in the tunnel. It made Daniel's vision blur and his head feel like it had swollen to double its size. " _Fuck,_  that was loud. Let's get the fuck out of here, that shit probably carried far enough to alert the entire tower, several stories underground or not."

As the detective and his pokemon ascended the stairs he mumbled to Charles, "Why the fuck is there a sewer access tunnel this far down? We're way below the sewers at this point, we have to be. I mean, fuck, we've already climbed up three flights of stairs and there's like six more to go!"

Charles shrugged, unseen to Daniel, and replied with a plain grunt, quiet and short.

"That might be the King's chamber. Or access to it. But it just seems too obvious. Anyone that comes into these tunnels would  _have_  to know about it. They'd have keys or something." Daniel jumped as another pipe vented steam in his face and shouted several expletives at the top of his lungs. Resolving to consider what he'd found somewhere decidedly  _less_  passively hostile and detrimental to his mental health, he sprinted up the last few flights of stairs and emerged in the lobby, sweating and sodden.

The receptionist gave the detective a single look - Daniel's flushed face and wild eyes stared back. The dark jacket, loaded belt and tightly laced boots made it clear any question she posed would be met with an answer she didn't want to hear, and so, she looked to the entryway to the lobby, humming a tune loudly and pointedly.

Daniel stomped over to Johannes and Viola and whispered, "Found a door. Won't open. Don't know why. Can't ask the receptionist. Have to come back at night with everyone else and see what we can manage."

" _But if it won't open, what will coming back at night do for us?"_  asked Viola, confused.

"Give me a chance to sic arcanine on it. Maybe send drifblim through and peek around the other side. I left them at home like a fucking idiot thinking I wouldn't need them." explained Daniel. Annoyance wound its way across his every feature as his displeasure with his own short-sightedness grew.

"Hrmm. I can see why it is you roped Ana into this," said Johannes. At the look of confusion on Viola's face, Johannes added, "Drifblim aren't exactly the talkative type, to pokemon or humans alike, and generally prefer to roam the world of the living than the dead."

Daniel stopped fiddling with his Xtransceiver long enough to look up at Johannes and raise an eyebrow. "That explains everything that free-spirited balloon has ever done." He returned to his device, typing out a message to Ricard requesting the blueprints to the maintenance tunnels and hallways that ran up, down and around Prism Tower. A few minutes later he had downloaded them to his map and was poring over them. He had no idea how it was Ricard got his hands on these things, but his ability to (likely aided in no small part by his sizable coffers) was appreciated just the same.

"These plans are giving me a worse feeling than those steaming, hissing tunnels did," he mumbled. "Look at this shit. According to these plans, the door I was looking at doesn't exist. Shit, most of the hallway before it and an entire flight of  _stairs_  shouldn't exist either. Something fucky is going on, and given how deep in the shit we are now, I'm putting my money on the King. Or one of his minions."

Johannes racked his brains trying to come up with an explanation that was more mundane than "a ghost did it." It wasn't so much that he didn't believe Daniel, rather, he wanted to be sure this explanation was the correct one, lest they go chasing shadows. He frowned at the floor plans and asked, still sifting through explanations, "You sure?"

"As far as this case is concerned, I'm more sure about this than just about anything else I've been sure about."

The researcher sighed and nodded. "It could be a trick. An illusion of sorts. Maintaining it for so long would be… tough. Unless a ghost found a way to make it permanent. Can ghosts even do that?"

Daniel shrugged. "Might be something d'Artagnan would know. Or Ricard. Maybe Ana, but she's asleep." He rubbed his chin. "Do ghosts pull energy from the other side?"

Johannes offered only a shrug in response. "Da- uh, Ignace: ghosts are probably the least understood pokemon type in existence. We know more about psychics, dragons and fairies than we do ghosts. They mingle too closely with death, or outright interface with it. As a species, humans have a long record with death and a tremendous fear of it, but we're still no closer to fully understanding it than we were centuries ago, millenia go. We probably never will be."

"But is there a chance they do?"

With a sigh, Johannes shrugged again. "I'd be a world-renowned researcher if I had any sort of definite answer to that. We have evidence to believe they do  _and_  don't. We think it's species specific, but then a banette goes and does something it shouldn't have, or a cofagrigus pulls some kind of utterly baffling display of interfacing with the afterlife. I mean, the entire time you were in the so-called "ghost world" did you see any spirits wandering around? Any pokemon?"

Daniel frowned. "No. We...sensed them. Sensed something. Never saw anything other than the structures d'Artagnan explained and a great big fuck-off gate." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his bisharp. "Charles heard the king whisper shit to him, trying to get him to turn on me. Scared him, but he also completely fucking ignored that rat bastard." He clapped his companion on the shoulder, drawing a hum of approval from Charles, and to Johannes' shock, a genuine smile.

"But for now, we've got something else to deal with. Visiting hours should be ending soon, and we'll have to work fast if we want to deal with both this place and the  _rouge_  in one night. Let's head out."

The four emerged from Prism Tower a minute later and were greeted by the brilliant orange of the setting sun. Long shadows stretched out from buildings, trees and railings, and City of Lights was was beginning to illustrate its namesake as streetlamps, cafes and high rises filled with lights of different colors and intensities. Daniel stopped them all with an outstretched arm and withdrew a cigarette from the pack in his jacket's pocket.

A curious lighter followed, its upper portion that of a chandelure's head towards eyelet of the device. With the press of a button and a soft click, a brilliant purple flame sprung out of it.

He lit his cigarette, and after a long drag and longer exhale, turned to Johannes and smirked at the researcher's confused expression. "Gift from Ana. Not sure how it turns fire purple. Never bothered to ask. Nothin' mystical about it though, or so she says." He took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled again. The stench the smoke left in the air gave Johannes a headache, and to his left Viola coughed pointedly once. At this, Daniel chuckled and said, "Just give me a minute. Calming the nerves after all the bullshit I dealt with down in those tunnels."

"What bullshit did you have to deal with down there?" asked Johannes.

The detective took one last drag and then dropped the cigarette to crush it under his boot. "Claustro-fucking-phobia. No reason for it either, at least not one that I can remember. Been a problem forever." He stretched and motioned in the direction Johannes had parked. "Pain in the ass, but if Charles can deal with the dark, I can deal with tight spaces. Shit sucks, you deal with it. How I dealt with fuckin' everything life threw at me."

Johannes stopped and looked at the bisharp. "Your bisharp is afraid of the  _dark_?"

Daniel turned to Johannes with a wide, genuine grin on his face. "You fuck pokemon?" He shrugged, and turned about again, Charles joining him in his laughter.

* * *

Terrence arrived at the tower, panting and feeling rather drained, but triumphant nevertheless, to the sight of his four targets piling into a car. His leg twinged only rarely now, a bit more than it had been recently given his haste. He sunk into the ground and snaked through the shadows into the street, his vision obscured but clear enough to notice the body of a car driving over him.

The world around him went quiet as he focused on the space directly before him. The ground began to rumble lightly, the sound of tires on asphalt began to grow out of the silence. Here at the tower would have been a terrible choice to pick a fight. But in the  _rouge_ \- they were moving where he had to lead them on their own! He had only to pick the proper time to spring and bait them.

But before any of that, he needed to get there. He focused harder upon the sound of the tires.

 _Now_.

His gaseous form surged up into the undercarriage of the car and coalesced again as a shadow. He was moving and secure.

* * *

Johannes pulled into an alley and turned the car off. Next to him sat Daniel, consulting a map and checking Xtransceiver now and again. In the back seat were Charles and Viola, both completely silent. The  _rouge_  felt foreign to him. Wrong. Shadows crossed before his car: men, women and pokemon walked by, their gaits full of purpose, shame or intrigue. Johannes unbuckled his seatbelt and sat back in his seat. "Lot more people walking around than I expected," he said in what he hoped was a casual voice.

Daniel looked up from his map, closing it with a soft click and pocketed it. "Still a little early. People are barhopping, looking for a nice place to settle that serves up the kind of shit they're looking to get into." He fiddled with his Xtransceiver and then added with a shrug, "Or let get into them." He sighed and gestured at the ignition. "Gimme some power for a second, gotta crack the windows." Johannes nodded and tapped the button once.

The window to Daniel's right slid down with a soft whirr and he pulled his curious lighter and a cigarette from his jacket once more. The purple flame winked to life for an instant before giving way to the steady glow of the red cherry of a cigarette.

"You'll be waiting in the car, naturally, but you won't have to worry too much about getting accosted. People try to avoid pulling shit out in the streets here in the  _rouge._  Dead-end alley too. No way to come at you from behind. Unless they open the windows, but the chances of that happening are slim to none."

Johannes put his hands on the steering wheel for lack of another reasonable location to leave them. "Why's that?'

"Because any attention is bad attention. The dickheads that own these things want as little heat as possible on them because what they're doing is eight godsdamned different kinds of illegal. Brothels are one thing, Lumiose has allowed those since the time of the fuckin' kings, but  _pokemon_  brothels take a big fat dump at the intersection of hell no and piss off."

The researcher nodded, turning from the detective and then jumped in his seat when he saw two shadows duck into the alley. The sounds emanating from them, registering two distinct pitches - one clearly inhuman - reached into the car. One sounded like a giggle, the other, an amused growl. Johannes raised an eyebrow and glanced at Daniel. "Should I do anything about this?"

The detective puffed out a plume of smoke and chuckled. "Thought you were into this shit?"

Johannes threw his hands into the air and pointed at the ring on his finger, his eyes trained on Daniel. "I'm married, damn it." He looked back out the window and squinted at the shadows. "And I don't know if you noticed, but Viola walks on two legs, not four."

Daniel snorted. "You've given me a better opinion of pokephiles, so I'll hold off on being mean for the moment, but…" He glanced back at Viola, who stared back with a pout on her face and a flash in her eyes. "Good choice sticking to something still vaguely human." He sighed and took another drag from cigarette.

An awkward silence stretched out between them - the shadows before them seemed to be wrestling against the wall, the four-legged one with more difficulty than the two-legged one.

"I'm giving you shit. Mostly as a joke. That last bit got a little too fuckin' heavy though." He coughed and took another drag. "Sorry. Just... relax. I try to take the edge off before I get shit done here because it always riles me the fuck up, and I'm doing a bad job of it. I don't fuckin' know anything about these two in front of me, who they are, if they know each other, and if whatever the fuck that thing is even wants to be doing this."

Viola frowned at this. " _Why wouldn't…?"_

"Because this city ain't as pretty as it looks, that's why," said Daniel, cutting her off. "They're sex workers, not people or pokemon with any kind of agency. You show up, you put money down and  _you get what you pay for._  I don't know anything about these two though, could just be secret lovers taking advantage of the fact that you can slap a lopunny's ass here and not have someone think twice." He tapped ash from his cigarette out the window and brought the thin stick back to his lips. "Might be good to just give 'em the lights. No sense shouting at them."

With a nod, Johannes twisted a knob on the turn signal - bright lights filled the alley and revealed the form of a woman, her shirt hiked up a considerable distance and an absol standing on its hind legs, its lips pressed somewhat awkwardly against hers.

Daniel burst into laughter and stuck his head out the window, shouting, "Hey!  _C'est le quartier rouge, pas le quartier des fusées rouges!_ "

The woman tugged her shirt down and smoothed it out shooed the absol from the alley, following close behind. She stopped before rounding the corner and made an obscene gesture at the car. "FUCK YOU!"

The detective pulled his head back into the car and coughed again. "Shouldn't do that right after having a cig. Throat's totally shot now."

Johannes and Viola both looked appalled.

" _Was that...necessary? They weren't doing anything harmful to you - to any of us."_  Viola's cold voice made Daniel shiver as it echoed in his head.

"Could have just let them run off, did you really have to-" The rest of Johannes' statement was cut off.

"I think I did. I know how it looks to you two, but this place is rotten to the fucking core." He swung the door open to the car and got out, with Charles following suit.

Johannes sighed. "Let's get out as well Viola. You can sit in the front seat after he heads off." Unseen, Viola nodded and got out of the car as well.

The four moved to the front of the car and faced each other. The bright headlights made Johannes squint and washed out most of Daniel's face. To his right, Charles stood, his arms folded, the light glinting off his polished blades.

"Does he…?" asked Johannes, distracted and pointing at Charles.

"Polish his blades?" supplied Daniel, glancing down at the bisharp. "Yeah. I do sometimes too." He shrugged. "Serves the purpose of letting me inspect them, take a whetstone to them, check for nicks, whatever it may be. Nicks are easy enough to deal with, since the blades repair themselves if they take minor damage."

Johannes nodded. "And major damage?"

"Don't know, don't want to know really. And neither does Charles I'd wager." The bisharp nodded and let out a sharp grunt in the affirmative.

Daniel reached out and put a hand to Johannes' shoulder. "Alright, look. I've been an ass for the last half hour or so, and I probably sound bitter or angry or flat out nasty, but let me make it clear:

"I  _am_  bitter. I  _am_  angry. I deal with this shit a lot. Way fucking more than I need to. Not this, not you two, not happy marriages with consensual dickings in the mission-fucking-ary position or however the fuck you manage it. I deal with finding pokemon that get stolen to be shoved into these places. Or have chunks of them torn off to be used for some fucking designer drug. Sometimes it's just plain old ransom.

"I've seen shit here. Broken souls and ruined bodies. Sylveon reduced to matted messes forgotten in the corner of some dingy fuck-in-the-wall while the tenant digs into whatever other warm hole he bought himself in case the first gave out."

He began to rattle off names on his fingers.

"Lopunny, florges, absol, roserade, every fucking eevee, and you-" He pointed to Viola, his face caught between a grimace and a manic grin. "Ohoho. Tons of you.  _Tons of you. Fucking TONS OF YOU."_

Viola clung to Johannes, mortified. The researcher too wound an arm around his wife and took a step away from the detective.

"I have pulled everything out of the shit to get it home to owners that just want their companions back. So excuse me for being more than a little bitter."

" _How regularly are pokemon stolen?"_  asked Viola, still cowering beside Johannes.

"Often enough to give me regular work, not enough for the police to care. Usually they get their stock through breeding, black market trading, shipments and all that jazz. But sometimes a catch is a catch. The common shit, the pokemon I just named off, those are easy enough to get, and I do get cases now and again to pull some from here. But weird, fringe pokemon are in vogue too. I've had to pull weird shit from this place. Stuff I never thought anyone would want to fuck." He dug around the inside of his jacket and produced a compact pistol. He pulled the slide back partially to check the chamber and then flipped the gun in his hand, grasping it by the barrel and offering the grip to Johannes.

The researcher sputtered, completely lost for words.

"Take it, now's not the time to be a pussy," said Daniel flatly. "I said no one would bug you, but I don't pin my hopes on a prayer. You know how these things work?"

"No!" shouted Johannes. "Why the  _fuck_  would I know how these things work?"

"Keep your voice down Jo. This little lever here's the safety. Switch it from S to F like this." He flicked the safety off. "And now you're ready to kill someone." He flicked the safety back on. "And now with it back on safe you're ready to  _intimidate_  someone."

"You're misunderstanding me, Daniel. I don't  _want_ a pistol," insisted Johannes. "I don't even know how to use it."

The detective paused and then sighed. "I'm going overboard, you're right. I'll just keep this as a backup. Keep your finger on your megastone. Will probably do you more good and won't accidentally blow your hand open or a finger off or something if you fuck up. Sorry, used to Ricard, who actually knows his way around these things." He stowed the pistol and then looked out at the street. Shadows, briefly illuminated by the headlights of the car, became men, women and pokemon before they were consumed by darkness again. None seemed interested in their exchange.

"I'll wait here. Where's the brothel you're going into?" said Johannes.

Daniel stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and continued to look out at the street. "Few buildings down. We're only just inside the  _rouge_  right now. My search probably won't stop there, I have a few contacts here that reach pretty far in, but I'd rather give you a ring and tell you to drive straight down this street than have to deal with telling you if you should turn left or right. I'll give you a ring on your C-Gear if I need a pickup.

"Keep all the doors locked until I give you a call, then unlock them because depending on how shit goes, we might have to get out in a hurry. Understand?"

Johannes nodded. "I do. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer for me to follow you around in the car? Just in case?"

"Don't need you sticking out around here. Sit tight in the car and wait for a call from me, if it comes at all," replied Daniel.

The researcher nodded again and turned to look at the car. A thought struck him. "You said a bit ago that people don't like to strike up a commotion here - but they take pokemon just fine. Wouldn't that be a good reason for the police to come snooping?"

Daniel stepped out to the mouth of the alley and beckoned to Charles. "Never greased palms in your life, have ya? Get in the car with your wife, Johannes. I'll be back soon." He set off down the street, Charles at his side, and disappeared into the darkness.

Johannes sighed and beckoned Viola back to the car. He flopped into his seat and flicked the lights off. He heard his wife in his head before she had sat down proper. " _I cannot say I find sitting in a dark alley in a part of the city that seems rather actively interested in stealing me away from you to fulfill their own…"_ She trailed off, the muted blues creeping through his head dropping down several shades in tone. " _I'm sure you understand what I'm saying."_

"I do. Believe me, I do." He took her hand in his. "But we promised Daniel. We've got your mega stone if we need it, and I think we'll be fine if it comes to it."

Viola leaned over the center console and dropped her head against his shoulder. " _I hope so."_  She raised her head up and kissed his cheek. " _I love you."_

Johannes smiled. "I love you t- what the hell is that?" He pointed at a shadow that had begun to materialize out of the hood of the car. "By the gods,  _no._  Viola! Quick-"

Two brilliant red eyes opened in the darkness of the alley, followed by a glowing white sneer, wicked and triumphant. The eyes flashed several colors and Johannes fell forward against the steering wheel. Viola raised a hand enveloped in bright pink energy and met the shade's eyes.

They flashed an array of colors again and she fell forward onto the dashboard.


	14. Chapter 14

Terrence pulled himself free from the hood and chuckled to himself. He had everything he needed now. Names, appearances, intents. He slid off the hood of the car.  _With that man and his gardevoir enjoying a nightmare, their escape is gone, and it should be easy enough to get that detective and his bisharp towards the Diggersby now._

It was nighttime proper now. The dull reds and yellows of dingy lamps hung outside of bars and brothels cast the streets in a dirty, dim glow. No matter where his quarry ran out in the streets of the  _rouge_ , Terrence could follow. He melded into the ground and took off - he snaked out of the alley and rushed down the street, trying to catch up to Daniel. He rematerialized on the face of garbage can after garbage can, and scanned his surroundings each time.

Perhaps he'd gone too far? He doubled back, bouncing from mundane object to dark patch of earth to the darkness beneath one of of the rare cars that sat parked on the street. Had he gone too far? Had they crossed the street? He had overheard their conversation, heard Daniel, the human, say he'd only be heading down a few buildings with Charles, his bisharp.

Terrence felt frustration begin to swell in him. He could not -  _would_  not allow this opportunity to pass him by. He may have hated Vassal's plan, but it was his only chance at making sense of the fuzzy, nonsensical images and noises in his head. He jumped from object to object with reckless abandon, his frustration shifting to anger as the minutes began to stretch out.  _Where were they?_

He materialized upon the low roof of a building and scanned the street, the stoops and the passersby.  _Where. Were. They?_  A deep, echoing growl of anger escaped him. He saw a figure below him give a start, glance over their shoulder and then shift from a walk into a jog.  _Idiot._  He sank into the roof and stalked over to a manhole cover. He dropped out of it into the sewers and caught the ladder that the humans used to lower themselves into it safely. He pushed on the cover, raising it enough to allow him to scan several buildings. His eyes were frantic, dancing from door to door at breakneck speed.

_A bisharp and a tall man in a dark jacket. A bisharp and a tall man in a dark jacket. A bisharp and a tall man in a dark jacket. A bisharp and a tall man in-_

Two figures emerged from the building directly in front of him. A man behind them was gesturing with force at them and pointing out of the brothel. He couldn't catch their exchange, but he could see the irritation in Daniel's gait and caught the sulking murmur from Charles. The stranger recoiled at the growl - and then pointed for a brief moment further down the street before slamming the door in their faces. The two looked at each other, nodded, and then set off down the street.

The anger and worry in Terrence's heart melted away, and he fought down the instinctual urge to grin.

* * *

Daniel brushed past the odd pedestrian now and again, paying them and their "dates" little mind. It seemed that each month that passed saw the clientele that frequented the  _rouge_  growing bolder. When he'd first begun working cases here they stuck to the interiors of the buildings - barhopping was still common, but once one of the degenerates had picked something to crawl into bed with, they didn't leave until the morning.

That didn't matter now. The entire  _rouge_  was theirs now. Judging eyes and petty laws meant little in the face of another money-spinning tourist trap. The first brothel he'd checked had precious little to offer him in the way of "unusual" goings-on. He scowled. Francis was less than willing to tell him anything at all that was happening, and he scratched his name from a list of contacts in his head. Someone had bought his silence.

His scowl shifted to a frown.  _Or maybe he's just tired of giving a shit._  Daniel glanced at Charles - the bisharp felt his partner's gaze and turned to face him. "Must be easy, huh?" he asked his pokemon.

Charles furrowed his brow and replied with an inquisitive hum. It was higher in pitch, and carried a bite of confusion.

"Not giving a shit anymore," added Daniel.

The bisharp turned away and grunted with displeasure.

Daniel chuckled. "I agree." Something flashed past the corner of his eyes - a dark mass of some sort. He froze and brought a hand to his pokemon's shoulder. "Wait," he said, his voice sharp. "Did you see that?"

Charles raised his arms and shifted into a defensive stance. A growl formed in his throat, low and buzzing, and began to rise in volume. A man with his arms around a pair of lopunny stopped in front of them. Fear sprung to life in the eyes of the lopunny and one of them let out a terrified squeak. They both squirmed away from their partner and took off up the street. The man stumbled back himself, stammering, "H-hey, hey, I paid up, what's with the hostility?" He nearly tripped over his own feet as he stepped back and craned his head around. "Come back!" He turned back for an instant to shout at Charles and Daniel, "I paid up!" He turned around again and took off after the pokemon.

The feeling they were being watched did not subside, and so Daniel beckoned Charles forward, taking small, measured steps himself and looking in every direction for anything out of the ordinary. "Keep your eyes peeled, Charles. No telling what the fuck it is that's going-" Another shape in the corner of his eyes - the same dark mass flit in and out of his vision.

* * *

Terrence watched Daniel and Charles from a drainage grate. He had put them too on edge - he needed to get them moving forward again, but not let them enter any more brothels - unless it was the Lonely Diggersby, of course.

He slinked out of the drainage grate and snaked along the ground into the dark alley nearest Daniel. As he materialized out of the ground, he closed his eyes. His focus turned to the invisible shadow he cast in the dim light of the sky and the dingy lamps of the surrounding buildings. When he opened them again he could see a darker patch, nearly imperceptible against the dark ground pushing out of him. It stretched and stretched until it rested against a trash can.

He tipped it over.

* * *

Daniel jumped and swore as a trash can fell over next to him, sending an array of discarded bottles, take-out bags and gods knew what else spilling across the floor in front of him. He kicked the offending can away and felt stupid immediately after.

He had to have imagined the shadow. It was paranoia getting the best of him. He had every reason to believe that the gengar that tried to attack them would try again, but Ana's warding abilities were impeccable, and following him out into public - even a place like the  _rouge -_  was tantamount to suicide.

"Come on, Charles," he muttered, "let's keep moving. Stay alert. Maybe it's my nerves and this trash can is just an asshole, but I don't want to take any chances."

The two resumed their slow trudge forward. The next brothel was a fair distance into the  _rouge_ , where the pedestrians grew bolder, and where alleys were convenient hideaways for those that had lost their self-control. Every so often a disheveled human or pokemon would stumble out of the dark and nearly run into him. Mumbled apologies that stank of alcohol and sex, or else odd squeaks, harmonious groans or apologetic chitters greeted his ears each time and cast a ever growing shadow across his face.

He passed an alley from which a symphony of soft moans emanated. A door in the alley flew open and bathed it temporarily in dull red and pink light - the opening produced a giggling patron and the telltale silhouette of a gardevoir.

The door closed behind them and they disappeared into the inky black.

"Lookin' for something,  _connard?_ " asked a gruff voice near Daniel.

The detective turned to see a monster of a man leaning against the wall at the entrance of the alley. How he'd managed to miss a pile of muscle roughly the size and mass of a truck was beyond him, and he swore under his breath for letting his own concern about dancing shadows and wayward trash cans distract him.

"Yeah," replied Daniel, a fire in his heart, "I'm looking for the  _morceau de merde_  that let somewhere like this come to be in the first place."

The musclebound hulk replied with a booming laugh and flipped Daniel the bird. "Wrong part of town. City hall is on the other side of  _Illumis_."

"Very funny." He pointed into the darkness of the alley, at the nearly imperceptible outlines of figures rolling about against walls in the void. "Didn't know policy changed. Thought you needed a room for this."

The guard crossed his arms again and whistled. From behind his legs an umbreon crept out and looked at Daniel with wide, piercing eyes. "He knows when it's time for me to tell them to shove off into a room. Until then, no sense turning away thirsty clients." As if on cue, the door in the alley opened again, only instead of producing a couple, it accepted one. Daniel squinted to see who and what walked in, but the guard stepped in front of him and pushed him back. "Show's over. This ain't the place for you,  _fils de pute._  Take you and your tiny knife somewhere else." He sneered at Charles, though it faltered for the briefest of moments when the bisharp replied with a sharp snarl.

The umbreon standing behind the man's legs cowed and hid himself from view.

"Not worth it Charles. Let's get going," said Daniel. He suppressed a smirk, but as they turned away gave his friend a firm set of shoulder claps. "Fuck that guy," he added in an undertone.

Charles replied with a sharp growl of approval.

The two pressed on, but Daniel stopped again just ten minutes later. They were nearing the next brothel for him to check into, but the creeping, snaking shadow has appeared in the corner of his vision again. He fought down the desire to call it paranoia. Twice in one night was too many.

"Charles!" he barked. "Stop. Saw it again. Did you?"

The bisharp returned a silent nod and raised his arms again. His eyes scanned the ground, the nearby alley and even the roofs of nearby buildings. A small mass darted out of the nearby alley and shot down the sidewalk, deeper into the  _rouge._

"Fuck! He's been watching us!" shouted Daniel. He took off after the mass with Charles following closely behind him.  _What the hell is this gengar doing just watching us? Are we near his home? Is he looking for a time to attack? That's suicide. Is he leading us to a trap?_  Daniel pushed the thoughts from his head. Trap or not, this was the best chance he'd had to grab hold of someone connected to this King business.

The shadowy lump dove from a rooftop right as Daniel lost sight of it and landed halfway across the street. He ran after it - traffic in the  _rouge_ was so light and the entire district so dimly lit that he'd have seen a car coming from a considerable distance away. He made it across with Charles and stopped to glance around. The mass was nowhere to be seen. His eyes flicked from sign to sign on the buildings before him.  _The Alibi. Goût Discernant. The Lonely Diggersby._

A gengar exploded out of the ground, sending several nearby pedestrians running away in a hurry, and it dashed into an alley between the  _Discernant_ and the  _Diggersby._  Daniel tugged a suppressed pistol with an underbarrel flashlight from his jacket and flicked the light on. The alley revealed to him nothing but a collection of bins, a dumpster - and nothing else. He kicked a nearby trash can and shouted, "FUCK! Where the  _fuck_  did that gengar go?"

Something connected with his back, and he felt the familiar, soul-scorching sting of ghost energy engulf him from behind. He fell forward and twisted around as he did, bringing his pistol to bear and scanning frantically for the source of the attack. Charles wheeled around as well, a harsh snarl ringing out of him into the night.

The gengar was already sinking back into the ground, and Daniel caught one of its pointed "ears" melting into the ground at the last second. He kipped-up to his feet and commanded, "Back to back, now."

With practiced agility, Charles complied and fell in behind Daniel, leaving enough space so as not cut him with the small bits of blade that protruded from his back. With a sharp grunt he confirmed he was ready and the two began to rotate clockwise in a circle, their backs to each other at all times.

A ball of energy formed out of the corner of Daniel's eye and flew directly at him. An adrenaline-charged roar sprang from his throat as tugged a tag free from a pouch on the inside of his jacket and held it up towards the attack. " _Mamoru!"_  The tag shone a brilliant violet for a brief moment and exploded as the dark purple ball of energy collided with it. The explosion threw Daniel and Charles back. His hand burned and throbbed as he watched the singed remnants of the tag - a hundred little blackened pieces of paper - drifted to the ground. He raised his pistol with his other hand and saw the gengar grimace as it got to its feet as well. Its gait was unsteady - the gunshot wound from several days before still ailed it.

"Fuck, Ana gives me too much credit," he groaned as he got to his feet. "Just say the word my ass, that shit never happened to her." He took aim at the gengar, his face now twisted into a snarl and trained his sights on its leg again - the other one this time.

The gengar began to phase into the other side, when a pain exploded in his right leg to the sound of a muffled crack. He howled and launched a barrage of purple orbs at Daniel and Charles, screaming, "FOR THAT, YOU DIE. NOW."

Daniel's eyes went wide.  _Did that gengar just speak-?_

Brilliant violet eruptions surged towards the detective and bisharp as they crashed into the ground and walls of the alley. Daniel dove behind a dumpster and turned in time to see Charles brace himself - the bisharp raised his arms, dug his feet in and bowed his head as the explosions surrounded him and he disappeared in plumes of dust.

"Gods damn it, Charles, what the fuck is wrong with you?" shouted Daniel. He peeked around his dumpster and fired several rounds blindly towards Terrence. Another roar of pain erupted into the alley and Daniel allowed himself a brief smirk. "Phase faster than a bullet can reach out and touch you!"

The dust cleared and revealed Charles still standing, his mouth set in a snarl and his gaze hard. He took off down the alley and launched himself at the gengar.

* * *

With a howl of pain, Terrence dove aside and phased into the realm of spirits. His wounds exploded - huge plumes of spiraling smoke rushed out of him, and feeling in his fingers and his foot was gone a moment later. He stumbled through the walls of the  _Diggersby_  and re-emerged in a stairwell, terrifying a woman and a lucario out of their embrace and sending them bolting up the stairs. He heard a door open and slam shut and groaned. Purple swirls of smoke snaked out between his fingers from the holes in his arm and his leg. Every step up the stairs felt like plunging his leg into fire, but he dared not phase back into the ghost world to give himself the luxury of floating - he'd lost too much essence already.

He stomped up the first stairwell and then the second.  _Why was Karan's room on the third floor?_  He pushed open a door labeled, "Executive Suites" and stumbled into a hallway. Muffled moans, shouts and overjoyed profanity met his ears, but in his condition it sounded more muffled than usual. His vision began to blur, but he was almost to Karan's room.  _Why was her room at the end of the hallway?_

He leaned against the door marked with a plaque that bore the engraving of a lily and reached for the knob with his shaking, uninjured arm. He could hear some hapless soul moaning within and the telltale creak of bedsprings. The door was locked. He took a deep breath and phased through it instead - the ordeal brought him to the other side for just a second, but when he appeared in Karan's room, it was alongside a display of a tremendous amount of curious purple smoke.

The man beneath the weavile's slight frame screamed.

Karan glared towards Terrance and pulled her client out of her, putting one clawed hand to his mouth as she slid up his chest, still straddling him all the while. A sharp claw came to a rest over his heart, tapping the skin in a slow, gentle rhythm as a wicked grin split her face.

" **Don't!"**  shouted Terrrence, stumbling up to the bed. " **Not yet. I need...I need his dreams."** He struggled to raise an arm to wave her off, groaning, " **Get** _ **off**_   **of him you whore, you can finish after I heal myself."**

The weavile made a clicking sound with her tongue and removed her hand from the man's mouth. He whimpered up at her and glanced at the gengar, cold sweat running down his face. The heat of passion had not so much vacated the room as much as it had been jettisoned away. He glanced at Karan, who gave him a smile and reached back to his groin and traced her claws along him.

Incomprehension spread across his face, and he cursed his body's willingness to ignore safety and logic as Karan slipped him inside her again. A delicate moan and quiet purr came to life in her throat. She gave the man beneath her a smile through half-lidded eyes. Her hand came up and cupped his cheek and then she wrenched his head to the side to face Terrence.

The gengar could only just manage to remain standing, and his eyes flashed in a feeble sort of way. It was enough - just barely or not, he did not know, and he did not care so long as his prey was sleeping. He let out a wail, deep and eldritch and his eyes and something deep in his mouth began to glow purple. He slapped his hand onto the man's forehead and let out a long, bestial moan.

The man tossed and turned beneath Karan, who watched the display with a wicked grin and wide eyes. The holes upon Terrence's arm and leg began to close, and then the light in his eyes and mouth died. He stumbled back, the pain that wracked his injured limbs now several magnitudes duller, and groaned.

" **What happened? I wasn't done feeding on his-"**  He looked up at Karan who stared back at him with a grin alive with malice, one of her claws embedded to the last knuckle in the man's chest.

" **You don't learn anything if you don't suffer at least a** _ **little**_ **, Terrence."** She pulled the claw from the corpse's chest and began to laugh - a high-pitched, venomous affair that made the resurgent essence within Terrence shrink away in fear. She stood and hopped off the bed, still smiling. " **You lost, didn't you?"**  she asked, smugness dripping from every word.

" **I have made them** _ **interested**_ **. The trap is ready. Hurry down to the lobby,"**  grunted Terrence. The dull aching in the raw flesh of his gunshot wounds would make phasing to the other side in the next fight a risk.

Karan brushed past him to her nightstand and picked up a plain leather necklace that sat in a porcelain key tray. She put it on and then walked up to Terrence and stared him down. He scowled back at her. " **You're afraid of me,"** she purred. She turned away from him and made to leave, calling back, " **Wise."**  She tossed the door open and disappeared from sight.

The gengar considered the corpse upon the bed and then ran out into the hall. " **Wait! I don't know if you've forgotten, but there's a** _ **corpse**_   **in your room!"**  he shouted after her. Karan did not turn around, opting instead to raise a hand and wave the comment off. He growled at her retreating back and returned to her room. He pulled the body from the bed and stuffed it underneath. Satisfied the dust ruffle hid it from sight he ran from the room, slamming the door behind him, and made for the lobby. His leg stung with each step, but he no longer felt he was dying.

His vision blurred and the screams of a woman exploded in his head.  _No. Not now. Not now. Not-_

Terrence was falling backwards into space. Noisy images of a woman, a park ,the interior of a car, a sky and a long alley played before his eyes at breakneck speeds. They would stop at random, lingering long enough for the noise that distorted the image to begin to clear and then they would fill with more noise than before and begin to cycle once again. Strange sounds - a mishmash of what he imagined was the background noise of each of the scenes - played over one another and made his head feel as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. The pictures began to swirl, as if circling a drain, and a pair of wicked red eyes flew out of the drain. Their evil stare paralyzed Terrence and he began to circle the drain as well.

Faster and faster he circled, swirling into his very own heart.

The sounds rose like a crescendo as the images disappeared completely, as Terrence himself collapsed into his own body and then the world went silent and dark.

* * *

Daniel panted as he rested his head against the dumpster and tucked his pistol back into the holster concealed beneath his jacket. His heart was pounding in his chest. He heard Charles approach and a defeated murmur rose from him.

"Didn't get him, huh?" he replied. "It's fine. We just need to get into the brothel and find him. And whoever the fuck he's working for." He stood and glanced Charles. "You feelin' alright?"

Charles nodded, supplying a hum of affirmation as he did.

"Alright, let's get the fuck in there." He stood and made his way to the entrance of the brothel. Like some of the others in the  _rouge_ , the entrance led one to the basement first, and it was in a small anteroom that a doorman wearing dark sunglasses, flanked by a machoke, stopped the detective.

The doorman raised a hand and barked, "Stop. What the fuck was that commotion out there? Someone get into a battle or something? You involved in it? You can fuck off if you were - you and your walking knife injury."

Daniel nodded. "Yeah, some retard had a score to settle with some other stupid fuck and they picked this alley to do it. Don't ask me why, probably a bunch of punk teenagers that don't understand how shit works around here."

The doorman's frown softened. "Lousy fucking kids and their deadbeat parents letting them wander into the  _rouge_.  _Merde_ , all of them, just heaping piles of  _merde_." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Anyway, arms out, gotta frisk you."

Daniel glanced at the machoke and declared, "I've got a knife, let me give that too…?" He looked between the doorman and the machoke.

"Oh for fuck's- just give it to my machoke."

The detective nodded. "Gotcha, let me just…" He reached into his jacket and pulled the pistol from it. In one swift motion he fired three times, one to each of the machoke's shin's and one to its shoulder.

The pokemon bellowed in pain and fell in a heap to the floor, the fire in its shins too much for it to bear putting weight on.

The doorman reached into his own jacket the instant he saw Daniel fire, but as he brought his pistol to bear found Charles standing before him, his arms crossed at his throat, cold blades resting against his neck.

Without a second thought the guard dropped the pistol and raised his arms. "T-take it easy now man, I don't know what kind of shit you're on, but I'm just a doorman, I don't got anything for you…" he stammered.

Daniel holstered his pistol and gestured to the machoke with his chin. "Stow him. No sense letting him suffer and bleed out."

The doorman opened his jacket with a trembling arm and revealed a pokeball at his waist. He reached down for it at a glacial pace, determined to avoid any sudden movements. With a click as he removed it from his belt and another as he pressed the recall button, he sighed and clipped the ball back to his belt after the machoke dematerialized. "Done. Now what?" he asked.

Daniel walked past him and looked at the door bearing a plaque with the words  _The Lonely Diggersby_  engraved upon it. "Arms down Charles." He turned about and brought the grip of his pistol down on the guard's head as the bisharp lowered his arms.

With a dull thud and a quiet grunt of surprise, the guard fell to the floor, unconscious. Daniel looked down at him with a frown of distaste and mumbled, "Drag him off into the corner." Charles nodded and grabbed the bouncer from under his arms and dragged him next to a plastic lawn chair. Daniel removed the magazine from his pistol and checked the slit running along its side. "Four…" He sighed and tucked the magazine away into an empty pocket in the left half of his jacket before reaching into a pocket on the right and retrieving a fully loaded magazine. He drove it home and waved Charles over.

"Be ready for anything, Charles. This could be a trap or it could be just another brothel. Not that I'm against raising a little hell here but…" He glanced over his shoulder. "I'd rather we keep the police out of this if we can.  _If we can_. Push comes to shove, tear shit up." His bisharp smirked and nodded.

The two threw the door open and Daniel walked into the  _Diggersby._  A short hallway opened up into a wide lounge and bar. Tables sat in near-darkness, lit only by colored light bulbs. It cast the myriad of patrons sitting beneath them partially in shadow, leaving them to drink, chat or fondle their dates in peace, their features distorted and their forms obscured. Poorly muffled music seeped into the room from a set of double doors to the left of the bar, and each time the doors opened to let a patron out or in his ears were met with the blaring highs and booming lows of house music.

Only the bar was well-lit.  _Weird. No one's fucking sitting at the bar._  Daniel made his way up to the bartender and sat himself down on a stool. To his right, Charles sat down and locked eyes with the bartender.

"If looks could kill. Does your bisharp have a problem with me?" asked the bartender. The man's dark eyes flit from Charles piercing gaze to the unamused stare upon Daniel's face. " _Merde_. Who pissed in your drink?"

The detective ignored the remark. "A fugitive gengar ducked into your little...club. Seen it?"

The bartender's eyes went wide, and he replied, his tone quiet and serious, "No,  _monsieur_ , I have not." He glanced around and then bent towards Daniel. "We have already made our payments, what on earth are you doing here?"

Daniel took this opportunity to grab the bartender's tie and pull him closer. "I'm not here to shake you down, but I do want to know where the fuck that gengar is. He can't have slid into this place without causing a commotion. Ghosts phasing through walls shouldn't be possible if you've got your tags up, and you clearly don't. Pretty fucking strange for a pleasant little  _club_  like this."

The bartender grimaced and pulled his face away from the detective. "W-well, yes, but you see…" His eyes darted to the lounge - none of the patrons seemed to have taken notice that he was being accosted. He swore under his breath and turned back to look at Daniel. "Please, I haven't received any word, there's been no panic - nothing at all."

The phone next to him rang.

Daniel's eyes settled on it and he looked the bartender again in the eyes. "Answer it." He released the man's tie and watched him with a hard gaze.

The bartender pulled a trembling receiver to his ear and said in a determinedly casual voice, "Bar and reception."

The music drowned out the response, but a moment later the color drained from his face and he nodded. "Yes, yes, at once. I'll have someone attend to it immediately. Yes, you have my apologies, yes. I'll send up something complimentary immediately." He hung up and looked at Daniel. "W-we appear to have received a complaint about a gengar appearing quite suddenly in the stairwell that leads to the suites. They were, ahem, unsure where it was headed, only that it appeared seriously injured. E-excuse me…" He reached under the bar removed two pokeballs and tossed them down. Two flashes of light produced the forms of two salazzle. The taller of the two had heavy lidded eyes and an inviting smirk on her face and crooned at the sight of the bartender. The shorter of the two was a brilliant white and turned to look at Daniel instead. With a tiny laugh like a hiss, she kept her eyes trained on the detective.

"Nicole!" The shorter salazzle nodded. "Take this up to room eight," he said, his tone suddenly brisk, "And  _stick around_." He flipped through a ledger before him and added, "Female and a male lucario."

The salazzle took the bottle of champagne he held out and slunk away. She stopped just long enough to swat the back of Charles' head with her tail and give him a single look over her shoulder. The doors opened and music drowned out the chatter of the bar for a moment before they swung shut again. Charles rolled his eyes and let out a quiet murmur of distaste.

"And you, Noelle…" continued the bartender, now looking between her and Daniel. "This gentleman needs to, ah, comb the premises for a wayward ghost. Stick with him so the muscle doesn't assume he's snooping."

The salazzle nodded and made her way to the door. The sway in her hips betrayed practiced exaggeration.

Daniel stood up from his chair and beckoned Charles to follow him. He paused and turned back to the bartender. "Word to the wise. Might need a bodybag. I suggest you find one."

The bartender's eyes went wide again. " _M-monsieur_ , surely you don't-"

Daniel ignored him, instead turning away, and after throwing the salazzle holding the door to the next room open a look of disgust, entered into the club proper.

* * *

The instant the doors closed Vassal swore aloud. "That useless  _connard_  Terrence got himself shot  _again_. Fucking imbecile." The vent near him swung open, producing Karan alongside the sound of a loud clang as vent slammed against its hinges.

The weavile landed atop the bar and gave Vassal a knowing grin.

"I see you're done fucking whatever poor idiot you decided to murder tonight," he said, his tone harsh, "and I certainly hope you're not looking for more prey, we have the detective and his bisharp in the club."

Karan's face split into a wide smile and she began to purr.

Vassal was not amused. "Yes, yes, but our bait seems to have gone and gotten himself shot. We'll be doing this alone. Or well enough alone - Noelle can hardly fight."

The weavile rolled her eyes and pointed up at the ceiling, towards her room, then held her hands out in front of her, her wrists limp, and shook them side to side.

"He's in your room?" asked Vassal, incredulous.

Karan nodded. She pointed down at the bar thrice.

"He's coming down?"

She nodded again.

"Get back to him. Come down the the stairwell, and kill the man with Noelle - him and his bisharp." He frowned and chewed his tongue for a moment. "Noelle is expendable. They take her hostage, run her through." He dug in his pocket for a moment and produced a small device. It was no larger than a Unovan quarter and bore a single LED. Vassal turned the device over and held a button on it - the light flashed blue once and then began to pulse teal. He clipped it to Karan's necklace.

He removed a C-Gear from his pocket and flipped over to a tracking application. He held down a button that appeared on the display and the status light on his C-Gear flashed green in rhythm with the light upon the device.

"If it breaks or you trigger it yourself," he explained, "I will enter the club myself. Be quick. Drawn out, bloody fights sober even the drunkest, most drug-addled and sex-crazed crowds."

Karan jumped from the bar directly up into the vent again - the clanging sounds of her making her way back up to the second floor faded a moment later, drowned out by the sound of music as the door to the opened once more.

A drunken man stumbled his way to the bar and sat down upon a stool. Vassal rolled his eyes. "What can I serve you,  _monsieur?_ "

The man raised a hand, his index finger outstretched and pointed at Vassal, then fell forward onto the bar and began to snore.

Vassal groaned in disgust and kneeled down to dig around in a box he kept stashed under the bar. He pulled a  _poignard_  from it and sheathed it in the small of his back and stood up again. He grabbed a cleaning rag from a glass and began to wipe down the bar.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

* * *

The music blaring in his ears left Daniel with a permanent grimace. He glowered at the DJ far to the other end of the room, standing upon a small stage at a mixing deck. He was flanked by a porygon-z on each side, the pokemon shifting and spinning around as multicolored strobe lights and lasers flashed around. Smoke hung heavy in the air and burned his throat - for the few cigarettes he did smoke, none of them were this harsh. Speakers crackling with electricity floated around the outskirts of the room, the telltale orange peak, bulbous head and permanent grin of a rotom poking out from the top of each unit betraying the reason for the curious display.

He brushed past the salazzle leading him and made his way towards the rear of the club. He passed a table filled with whooping men watching two lopunny dance upon the tiny surface, locked in a vertical wrestling match as their hands snaked over the other's body.

He rolled his eyes and continued forth.

Something tugged on his sleeve. He craned his neck around - a zoroark, seated at table with an ampharos, held his sleeve pinched between his fingers. A grin filled with sharp teeth spread across its face and it tugged once more on the sleeve.

Daniel took a step back and stared the zoroark down. "What?" Charles peered around his friend and watched the fox with a furrowed brow.

The zoroark stared Daniel in the eyes and then uncrossed its legs, the grin on its face widening as it did.

Daniel turned away at the turgid display and began to talk towards the rear of the club again. He stopped long enough to hiss back over the music, "Not gay,  _or_  a degenerate."

The zoroark growled with displeasure and crossed his legs again.

Daniel, Charles and Noelle continued towards a door at the far end of the club that caught Daniel's eye, but stopped - this time because of Noelle. She hissed with surprising force at the two and clutched theirs shoulder in an iron grip. The two turned to look at her in bewilderment as she turned to a booth where a single man sat, his arms on the top of the booth's backrest. A large table in front of him bore a few bottles, two empty glasses and a small shot glass filled with a bizarre, glowing liquid.

The man stared back at the salazzle and raised an eyebrow. He shooed her away with a tiny wave of his hand. Noelle remained undeterred, however and slammed her hands down upon the table with a loud hiss. The man jumped in his seat. Then his eye twitched and the corner of his mouth spasmed for an instant.

Noelle's eyes narrowed and the ribbons of flesh along her haunches began to flicker. She breathed a small puff of flame from her nostrils and the man reached under the table and alerted something. The head of a froslass phased up through the table and turned to look at Noelle. She rose completely out of and reclined in the air, a bored expression on her face and sighed. She raised an eyebrow in surprise - at what, Daniel and Charles were unsure - and then she muttered something.

Charles did not catch the ghost mumble, " **Always forget,"**  though Noelle did - but the salazzle did not seem to care.

With an air of total apathy, the froslass brought a delicate hand to the corner of her mouth and wiped a streak of fluid away from it.

" **What?"**  said the the ghost at last. The unfeeling coldness in her tone more than made up for how difficult it was to hear over the din of the music.

Noelle bristled. " **Rules."**  She breathed another puff of flames through her nostrils. " **Get a room."** The salazzle's voice was similar to her laughs and warnings - a drawn out array of sounds high and low, all of them some variety of hiss.

Daniel took a step back and tapped Charles twice on the shoulder. The bisharp turned to look at his partner and saw him pointing at a door nearer the back wall of the club. With a nod, he followed after him.

Charles continued to watch the argument between Noelle and the froslass as long as he could before the throngs of dancers, drunkards and pokemon bustling around the club obscured them. Whoever this froslass was, she had helped them.

Daniel examined the doorknob in a hurry - a standard keyhole, and while he had the foresight to bring picks, he did not have the time to use them. He looked around and mumbled, "Fuck it." He drew his pistol and lined the opening of the suppressor up with the center of the door knob, and then paused, concentrating on the booming bass of the music.  _Fucking noise level isn't enough._

He holstered his pistol again and instead removed a steel rod from the small of his back, below his dagger, along with a metal circular screw-on disc. One end of the rod tapered to wedge into a keyhole, and the other was threaded to accept the disc. He handed the device to Charles, who nodded, jammed the tapered end against the hole of the lock and then punched the disc. With a loud crack the rod drove through the knob and broke the other knob clear off door.

Daniel dismantled the device and ushered Charles across the threshold, ducked inside the hallway and closed the door.

They were in a hallway lined with a set of four doors, two on each side, and another at the end labeled "Management". Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the door nearest him on his right, and stepped in with his pistol brought up to bear. The room was filled with carts and baskets of laundry. The putrid smell of piss, vomit and sex mingling together hit his nose and he slammed the door shut a moment later.

The other three doors called to him. He glanced at Charles and mumbled, "Do we check management or the rest of these for something that might help us? Hell, maybe we'll find a way to be a couple of big fuckin' heroes in one of these rooms."

Charles replied by turning about and throwing the other door open. It revealed a service elevator loaded with an empty laundry cart. Daniel followed in after the bisharp and smiled at the elevator. "This might come in handy…" He stepped up to its controls and saw a small keyhole. "Fuck. Maybe not. Needs a key." He glanced around the room and shook his head. "No time to check for a spare, probably only carried by the cleaning staff that comes in during the day anyway. Let's get moving."

The remaining two doors were uneventful - one contained a series of shelves filled with office supplies and boxes of what Daniel imagined were old records, and the fourth room revealed an incinerator.

He checked the doorknob on the door marked "Management" - it too was locked.  _Little bit of distance should make up for the sound._  He unholstered his pistol and tweaked the suppressor, before loading his old, partially depleted magazine into the gun. He shot the knob off the door before kicking it open. He tucked away the empty magazine and returned his  _other_ partially spent magazine to his pistol. "Let's move, Charles."

The door led to a stairwell that sent them down two sets of stairs and into a small, dingy room lit by a pair of lamps on each wall and a small light that hung from the ceiling. A desk sat in the center of the office, laden with stacks of papers, manila folders and crumpled memos. A long table was pushed against the eastern wall and bore a coffee pot, several mugs, powdered creamer and sugar. The northern wall featured several boxes overflowing with papers. Daniel dug a few out - earnings, expenses, inbound pokemon, outbound pokemon… Death logs?

He leafed through a stack of papers detailing deaths over the last month - Daniel could not say he was surprised by some of them. Accidental poisonings, crushed chest cavities, massive internal hemorrhaging, suffocation, punctures… He picked up the pace as he flipped through the pages. A surprising number were listed under "exhaustion" and "cardiac arrest". He grimaced.  _Fucked themselves to death?_

His perusal of the increasingly perverted means in which patrons had died stopped at an entry that brought a mixture of morbid amusement, disgust and bewilderment into his stomach so potent he wished to never experience it again.  _Death from fucking the hole in a shedinja?_

He shoved the papers back into the box and turned to the bookshelf on the western wall, unwilling to consider what that particular death implied.

He looked it up and down and saw many of the books had gathered a film of dust. "Not a huge amount… but they never touch these things." He perused the spines of them books and frowned. "None of these have anything to do with shit the people running this joint would want to know." He crossed his arms and glanced at the edges of the bookshelf. "No…"

He drew closer and inspected the left side of the furnishing. There was nothing else against this wall - why?  _Why stack boxes against the northern wall and make them a huge pain to access when most of this wall was still serviceable?_  Daniel squinted at the top edge of the bookcase and smiled. Scratch marks, faint ones, but scratch marks nevertheless adorned the wall. He seized either end of the bookcase and began to slide it over. With some difficulty he got it shift slightly when an alarmed hiss met his ears.

He let go of the bookshelf and saw Noelle bent down on all fours, poised to strike. The curious ribbons of flesh unique to salazzle burst into flames and smoke billowed from her open mouth. Noelle let out a shriek of rage and fired a ball of flame directly at Daniel.

Charles launched himself between his partner and the lizard, arms raised. The projectile exploded on his forearms and superheated them. When the plumes of fire dissipated Daniel raised his pistol and fired at Noelle - the shot went wide and hit the wall next to her. Purple mist rose out of her mouth and a second later she spat a glob of black sludge at Daniel. Charles let out bellow of rage and jumped in front of the attack again, his face set in a grimace as his glowing, gauntleted arms cooled. The glob broke apart and coated the bisharp in the sludge - the light reflecting off of it produced a dark purple sheen.

Charles dropped to a knee, growling in pain and stared down Noelle, vicious anger burning behind his eyes.

Specks of the glob struck Daniel in the face and upper part of his shoulder. The toxic ooze began to eat away at his face and clothing immediately. He wiped away what he could, ignoring the insistent burning in now his face, shoulder and fingers, and with a grimace he leveled his pistol at the salazzle again - only for Charles to stand and launch himself at the lizard with a scream of fury.

Noelle nearly made it away, but Charles seized her tail and yanked her back. She turned about as he did and prepared to blow a gout of fire directly in his face, but was met with a punch coated in darkness directly to her forehead.

Charles released the salazzle and let the pokemon fly back into the wall, cracking it on impact and sending bits of drywall and plaster flying. The bisharp laughed, his voice hoarse and breathing shallow and then fell to his knees. His gauntlets no longer glowed red hot, but the heat that emanated from them still distorted the air and had burned away the sludge that had come in contact with them. Daniel knelt down and gave Charles a pat on the back.

"You did good bud," he said, his tone bracing, "you did just fine, don't worry, I got ya, just hold still." He dug in his jacket for an antidote and produced a syringe after rummaging about for a few seconds. He uncapped the needle and stuck it directly into the bisharp's neck. Charles flinched at the sudden prick but not more than fifteen seconds later his breathing began to even out and he raised himself into a kneeling position.

With a murmur of thanks and appreciation, he gave Daniel a pat on his shoulder and then tried to stand. Noelle stirred and raised her head in time to see the bisharp getting to his feet, his gait unsteady.

With another screech she launched a deep violet glob at the bisharp, intending to finish it off. Daniel shoved Charles out of the way and took the hit square in his chest. He immediately felt ill, but struggled to his feet and raised his pistol at Noelle.

"Eat shit." He fired several times, striking the salazzle in the stomach, chest, neck and twice in the head. Noelle slumped to the ground with an unceremonious thud. The detective fell against the desk, struggling to support himself and rummaged as fast as his weakening limbs would allow him through his jacket. He found the extra antidote he packed and with trembling, numb fingers, uncapped the needle, jammed it into his neck and depressed the plunger.

His eyes grew heavy, and he slouched forward and vomited. The feeling that his innards had been set ablaze began to subside. Feeling returned to his fingers and his arms stopped shaking. Nausea still gripped his stomach, but he would gladly take it over vomiting himself to death. He glanced down at the puddle of sick and grimaced.  _That's a lot of blood._

He wiped spittle from his mouth and gave Charles a firm pat on the back. "You alright bud?" he asked. The bisharp nodded and got to his feet.

He still seemed unsteady, and so Daniel pulled a spray bottle from jacket and uncapped it. He ran it back and forth across Charles' gauntlets, across the bisharp's chest and up to his face. Scorch marks, burns and cracks disappeared as Daniel emptied the potion on his partner and after a few more seconds of spraying, it sputtered and he tossed it aside.

"Best I can do for now," he told Charles. The bisharp replied with a strong and confident hum of agreement. "Now let's get this bookshelf moved, find out what kinda crazy shit they're hiding behind it, and get the fuck out of here." He glanced at the dead salazzle, blood pooling around it and soaking into the cracks in the tiles and the rug the desk sat upon and shook his head. "Fucking hell, this shit didn't have to happen. Remind me to kneecap the bartender." He reloaded his pistol and stowed it, then turned back to the bookcase.

He threw the bookshelf aside, throwing stealth to the wayside with his 'escort' now crumpled in a bloody heap five feet away, and groaned. "A fucking seal, of course." The patch of wall behind the bookshelf was a lighter tone than the rest of the wall and the King's seal. He rapped his knuckles against the center of the wall - it sounded hollow.

"Punch it," he said to Charles.

The bisharp drew his fist back and struck the center of the King's seal. To Daniel's unpleasant surprise, the seal flashed and knocked Charles backwards. The bisharp snarled and stood, then threw a more forceful punch at the wall. The seal flashed brighter and launched the bisharp across the room into the opposite wall.

With a groan, Charles got to his feet and crossed his arms, sulking.

Daniel sighed. "Doubt even a conkeldurr could punch through it." He turned to Charles and gestured to the stairs. "Forget it, let's find that gengar. No doubt whoever the fuck he's working with owns this place or something."

The two ascended the steps at a steady pace. Daniel kept his ears perked, listening for any approaching footsteps, but the sound of music made it impossible. Noelle had left the door open. He peeked over the last few steps by standing on his tiptoes and then nodded back at Charles. The hallway was clear. The rushed to the end of it and Daniel peeked into the club. Nothing seemed to have changed, and so he holstered his pistol and beckoned for Charles to follow him back into the club.

* * *

Karan crawled out of the vent and meandered over to Terrence's collapsed form. " **Sleeping on the job, are we?"**  she whispered to the gengar. She pinched one of the ear-like protrusions jutting from his head - the gengar's eyes flew open to a howl of pain.

Terrence rolled away from Karan and scrambled to his feet, his eyes glowing, prepared to strike. His vision cleared and saw a cackling weavile staring back at him. With a groan he rubbed his forehead and grumbled, " **Did you really need to do that?"**

Karan stretched and ignored his question. " **Looking for a tall man with a dark jacket and his bisharp…"**  she purred, " **Correct?"**

The gengar nodded. " **Is he here?"**

Karan ignored his question again and instead walked past him. She flicked one of his "ears" and mumbled, " **We need to find him. He'll be in the club, according to Vassal. Look for Noelle."**

Terrence stomped after Karan, muttering under his breath. " **Fine, just ignore my questions, whore, it's not like I needed to know anything I asked you."** He rubbed his forehead. The noisy images and distorted sounds had receded, and his head felt clear again - unfortunately, it also left nothing to distract him from the dull throbs of pain in his arm and leg where he'd been shot.

They hurried down several flights of stairs and before crossing into the club proper, Terrence stopped Karan. " **Going to melt into the shadows for this. I'll move towards the back while you sweep the front."**

The weavile stared at Terrence. The muffled sound of house music seeping through the door disappeared, replaced instead with an oppressive quiet that felt like someone was stuffing cotton into his head. Karan did not break eye contact with him, not even to blink.

Inch by inch the weavile leaned in towards Terrence, and the gengar stumbled back against the wall, watching her with fear in his heart.

Her lips opened no more than a few centimeters. " **Fine."**  Her voice was like ice and Terrence kept himself from shivering only through tremendous force of will. Without another word, Karan turned from him and stalked into the club.

Terrence gave her several seconds to get as far as away from him as possible before let himself melt into the floor and shot into the club, rushing from the dark underside of one table to another.  _That whore is insane. Completely out of her mind._ He shivered and poked his head out of the ground long enough to glance back towards the front of the club. He saw the red plumage of her tail disappear behind several pairs of legs and with a sigh, he glanced in the other direction, looking for the telltale shine and strange shape of a bisharp's legs.

A shaft of red light caught on a set of sharp metal and reflected into his eyes. With a grin, he launched himself back into the ground and rushed towards the table nearest the legs. Then, the gengar rose out of the ground until he'd freed more than half his body. He jumped when he found a froslass next to him.

She panted softly, her frigid breath creating soft clouds that dissipated a moment later, and sliding along some unknown patron's length. The single eye he could see opened, yellow sclera and a blue iris, and the eye widened for a second at the sight of the gengar, before it became heavy and half-lidded. She turned her face towards him, still sliding along her client, her tone cold and flat, " **What?"**  Terrence was at a loss for words.

The froslass rolled her eyes and picked up speed, still looking Terrence in the eyes with an expression that asked a question Terrence had no answer to. She shook her head, and then a heavy thud rang out from above the table. The froslass' eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth shut. Tiny, muffled groans found their way into Terrence's ears and he turned away from her, furious and disgusted, and found the metal legs he'd been following - and the other pair that was accompanying them - had disappeared into the crowd.

He threw one last, murderous glare at the froslass, though she paid him no mind, instead removing herself from the man and phasing up through the table. Deciding the time for subtlety had passed, he phased up through the table after her, and landed upon it to a feeling of dull pain in the gunshot wound in his arm and in his leg.

The patron seated at the table shouted in fear at Terrence's sudden appearance. Noelle glanced at him, and her gaze softened, though only just.

" **Where did he go?"**  asked Terrence, ignoring the shouts of fear from the man behind him.

The salazzle looked affronted. " **He's right…"**  She turned around and looked about, then hissed in anger. " **He** _ **was**_   **right here. I don't know where he's gone off to."**  She turned around again and pointed at the froslass. " **I will deal with** _ **you**_   **later."** She returned her attention to Terrence and said, " **Spread out."**  Noelle turned on the spot and walked off into the crowd.

Terrence looked back at the froslass and growled. " **Nice going."**

His comment fell on deaf ears - the froslass ignored him and brought a finger up to her client's chin and giggled.

* * *

Karan clambered up a the body of a patron and stood on his shoulders to stare out over the top of the crowd. The roserade next to her watched with a faint smirk and offered the man a simple grin when he looked at her, confusion on his face, pointing insistently at the weavile.

"H-hey, ouch, what the fuck are you doing, you crazy-"

She doubled over and brought her hands down to his cheeks and looked him in the eyes, her expression flat. A smile spread across her face and she kissed his nose, gave him a pat on the cheek, and then stood up again.

"Wh-" He stopped himself and sighed. "Fine, whatever."

* * *

The crowd had thinned somewhat - at least Daniel didn't feel he had to brush past nearly as many couples struggling to toe but not overstep the rules that governed the club. "Watch for anything unusual Charles," he called over the din of the music, "Especially that fucking gengar."

They pushed further into the crowd, towards the center of the club and onward towards the front and stumbled out into a clear patch. The set of double doors that led out were some twenty feet away - and standing atop the shoulders of a disgruntled looking man was a weavile.

Daniel saw her eyes widen and gleam as a manic grin spread across her face.

_A sneasel or a weavile. Short plumes on the side of the head. Female. And fucking insane._

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. CHARLES!" he shouted, tearing his pistol from his holster. The bisharp had been covering their advance through the crowd, watching their backs the entire time, and spun around at Daniel's shout.

Charles grit his teeth as the weavile hopped down to the ground and tugged a small device from her collar and crushed it in her hands. Daniel raised an eyebrow and a second later the double doors flew open and revealed the bartender bearing a vicious looking dagger.

Daniel's eyes flit between the two and then, for the second time that night, he felt his soul catch fire. He fell to the ground, knocking several people and pokemon aside before he crawled under a table. With shaking hands, he unscrewed the suppressor from his pistol and stuffed it away in his pocket, shouting at Charles, "WE'RE CLEARING THE FLOOR. WATCH FOR THAT FUCKING GHOST."

Charles craned his head around in time to see a gengar land atop a nearby table. Another shadow ball flew directly at the bisharp - and exploded across the face of a terrified looking braixen that had been rushing away from Daniel.

The fox slumped to the floor. Someone screamed.

Daniel dove out from under the table and skid across the floor, knocking several more people over and aimed at the weavile - he fired directly at her head several times. A hole exploded next to its head to her side, and to his surprise, the weavile did not flinch.

Several people screamed this time, and Daniel heard over the chaos, "GUNSHOTS!"

Someone else shouted, " _La police!_ "

The screams became a chorus, and the crowd began scatter, spilling out in any direction that provided some sort of exit. Daniel seized Charles by the shoulder and pulled his pokemon towards him. Right after, he felt himself be buffeted back and forth between horrified people and pokemon alike. The weavile and bartender disappeared in the crowd of bodies. He saw people and pokemon alike trip around him, and a few caught shadow balls intended for him.

_That crazy fucking gengar is still trying to hit me?_

Daniel could hardly see anything in the swirl of bodies, and it was with great difficulty that he lowered himself enough to shout at Charles' shoulder, "Fuck it, cut and run!" He drew himself to his full height, still struggling to remain upright as people knocked into him and craned his head around for an exit that wasn't the thoroughly jammed front door. His eyes spotted a small mass of people pushing others up the shadowed landing of a staircase and he tugged Charles towards it, fighting against the current of the crowd.

He stumbled out of the crowd with a grimace and fired into the air again as he approached the terrified throng of people. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!" The burning in his back was intense and he had little interest in taking another hit if he could avoid it.

As if on cue, another shadow ball exploded next to him, striking a terrified looking woman in the chest. Her shriek of agony was cut short with a gag and she crumpled to the ground.

Daniel pulled people from the staircase, tossing them aside and shouted, "Move Charles, move!" His bisharp ascended the steps, knocking a nidoqueen aside. Daniel followed close behind, knocking aside people and pokemon whenever they froze in fear at the sight of a haggard looking man brandishing a pistol. He heard another scream as, no doubt, another patron took a shadow ball meant for him.

A blinding pain erupted in the middle of his back, to the left of spine. He stumbled on the steps and forced himself up again and pressed forward. He brought his hand to his back and tried to reach for whatever it was that had struck him - his fingers found a slick shard of ice.

"Keep moving...Charles," he groaned, pushing on the bisharp's back as they reached a landing with a door marked, "Suites."

The bisharp turned to look at Daniel and saw the detective fall to his knees, hunched over, a jagged icicle protruding from his back. Daniel coughed and spat up a considerable amount of blood, and wheezed, "Fucking...punched...through...the...vest." He coughed up more blood. "Nicked...a lung." He got to his feet, swaying on the spot and shouted, "Get moving! I can still-" He coughed, "Just GO."

With a growl of concern, Charles punched the door clear off its hinges and peered into the hallway. More doors lined it, though at the end sat a boarded up window. The bisharp sprinted to window the second he saw it and began to punch through the boards, tearing them away whenever he could.

He turned about and saw Daniel on all fours again, halfway down the hallway, doors on his left and right open and shutting as concerned, curious, and terrified guests alike peeked out to see what was causing the commotion.

Charles rushed to him and knelt down. He murmured, shaking his friend on the shoulder.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," coughed Daniel in response. "Just...tear this out. Fuck it. Get rid of it. Rather bleed." He looked up in Charles' face, and at the expression of fear and worry that greeted him shouted, "JUST DO IT."

With a grimace, Charles seized the icicle and tugged it free.

Daniel punched the ground several times, screaming and then got to his feet with renewed vigor. "I'm not dying in a fucking brothel. Jump out to street level, we need to signal Johannes." He stumbled his way to the window and turned about in time to see Charles take a shadow ball to his shoulder. The weavile followed closely behind, pouncing on the bisharp, and raised her claws up to drive them down into his chest.

Charles bellowed and threw a punch that connected squarely with the weavile's jaw and sent her flying into the wall next to him. She slid to the ground in a heap, dazed. The bisharp kipped-up, only just avoiding another shadowball, and locked eyes on the panting gengar that stood in the doorway to the stairs.

A strange scream issued out of Charles' mouth, like a sped up diatribe of nonsense speech that made Daniel's head hurt. The gengar grimaced and clutched its head stumbled. The weavile got to her feet and with another shrill screech launched herself at Charles.

The two rolled along the ground into the opposite wall, the weavile lashing out at Charles whenever she could, screaming. Charles felt several lacerations open along his torso, arms and face and with a shout of fury seized the weavile by the throat. He diverted his gaze long enough to see Daniel sink to a knee by the window and struggle back to his feet. He focused back on the weavile, his mouth set into an ugly frown.

Her eyes bulged, a choking gasp issuing from her mouth and with a sound halfway between a cough and a gag, she drove a claw directly into his arm. Daniel saw the bisharp's eyes twitch in pain and he dropped the weavile - before immediately seizing her with his uninjured arm. He slammed his forehead into the weavile's and then turned and launched her at the gengar. He saw the gengar struggle to his feet only to be ejected from the room by its accomplice.

He turned on his heel and sprinted back to the window, pointing at it and shouting something unintelligible in a voice like wet gravel. Daniel dove out the window, rolling upon the cement outside with a loud groan as he strained his injury. He got to his feet, his legs weak, and watched Charles burst from the window a moment later.

Daniel panted and looked around at the crowd of people pouring out of the  _Diggersby_  and set off towards where Johannes was parked, beckoning Charles to follow him. "Come on...we have to get...the fuck out of here," he called back, moving as fast as his battered frame would allow him.

Charles stuck closely behind Daniel, opting to watch their backs - he saw nothing and no one emerge from the window as it shrank with the widening distance they put between themselves and the  _Diggersby_.

Now several minutes away, Daniel dug into his pocket and removed his Xtransceiver and looked up Johannes' number.

_You've reached the private number of Johannes and Viola Talburn. If you intended to contact my office line at the Celestic Town Historical Research Center, please instead call-_

He hung up and frowned. "No response, Charles," he muttered. The bisharp fell in next to his partner and offered a concerned murmur in response.

"I'll keep trying, but let's pick it up," he added before lapsing into a fit of coughing.  _For fuck's sake, you two better just be banging in the backseat._

* * *

It came to pass that Johannes did not answer the entire trudge back to the alley they'd parked the car, Daniel shined his flashlight on it with some reluctance, expecting a front-row seat to more of Viola and Johannes than he ever needed to see. Instead, he felt what little color was left in his face drain away at the sight within.

"NO, GODS DAMN IT, NO!" he shouted; it was a terrible idea, as another fit of coughing doubled him over as he staggered to the driver's side door and seized the handle. It was locked. He banged against the window several times and saw Johannes stir - tiny haphazard movements that gave way to little seizures before he became still for a moment and the twitching started anew.

Daniel was not a religious man, but he mumbled thanks to the dragon trio of Unova just the same.  _Not dead, just having the worst nightmare they'll ever have._  "Wake up! Open the door!" he coughed through the pane of glass. He did not stir. Daniel grit his teeth and elbowed the window open, then rooted around in his jacket for an awakening. He uncapped the needle and jammed it into Johannes' neck, then depressed the plunger.

Johannes awoke screaming, tears streaking his face and looked manically around the car. "LET GO OF HER, LET GO-" He stopped and saw Viola collapsed against the dashboard and shook her awake. "VIOLA! Wake up! Wake up, please!"

The gardevoir's eyes fluttered open and she sat bolt upright in her seat, a long and shrill scream accompanying her as she rose. Her eyes flashed and an aura of pink surrounded her - the windshield and windows cracked and exploded. Daniel dropped to the ground to avoid them, shouting profanities all the while.

"What the...FLYING FUCK...are you doing?" he shouted, rising up again. He fell to a knee and spat up more blood. "Gods...damn it."

Viola flung herself across the center console, wrapping Johannes in an embrace and sobbing hysterically. The sounds playing in Johannes' head were complete gibberish and accompanied by a kaleidoscope of colors shifting and blinking across the spectrum.

His eyes widened. "Oh fuck." He unlocked the door and threw it open, sending Daniel stumbling back. "Daniel, Daniel, that gengar is here! He hypnotized us and and-"

The detective grit his teeth in pain and limped back to Johannes, muttering, "No he's fucking not." He wiped his mouth and immediately coughed up more blood - directly onto Johannes' face. The researcher recoiled in horror. "But if we don't get moving he might be." He tugged on the handle to the door for the backseat and added, "Thanks for just throwing the fucking door...open in my face." He stuck his hand through the gaping hole that had replaced the window and unlocked the rear door, then pulled his Xtransceiver from his pocket and flipped through his contacts, settling on one labeled simply, "Doc" and tapping the address he'd entered in. A map came to life on its display and traced a route between the alley and the destination. "Take this and take me there," he said shortly, suppressing still more coughs, and handed the researcher the device.

Johannes saw the detective settle down in the rearview mirror and then rubbed the top of Viola's head. "It's okay Viola, don't cry honey," he mumbled down to her, "I'm fine, we're both fine it was just a nightmare. Just let go of me, I have to drive…"

Viola sobbed harder into his side and refused to let go.

"WE NEED TO FUCKING MOVE, I'M BLEEDING ALL OVER THIS CUNTING SEAT AND THE WORLD AIN'T GETTIN' ANY WARMER. FUCKING GUN IT, TALBURN," roared Daniel. He doubled over into a fit of coughs a moment later and grumbled, "Gods, this blood isn't gonna wash out of these seats."

Johannes turned the car on and threw it into drive in a hurry, and peeled off into the night, ignoring the difficulty a weeping gardevoir pressed into his side created. They passed several police cars driving in the opposite direction deeper into the  _rouge_  as they followed the directions on the Xtransceiver out of it.

Daniel leaned forward with a groan and tapped on Johannes' shoulder insistently. "Gimme your C-Gear. Just fucking do it."

The researcher dug in his pocket with immense difficulty and handed the device back to Daniel, who immediately flipped to its phone function and dialed "Doc's" number.

" _Premier Laverie de Illumis_ -"

"Cut the act Doc. It's Ignace. Late night patch job. Took an icicle to the back...might have nicked a lung," said Daniel, cutting across the warm greeting and punctuating it with a wet hack.

The voice became brisk and businesslike. "Sounds like you did. I'll clear a table."

"Bill Ricard." He hung up and handed the C-Gear to Viola, tapping her insistently on the shoulder until the gardevoir finally released her husband and sat up, her eyes bloodshot and her face tear streaked. She glanced at the device the detective held in his hand with a far-off look and took it from him. Daniel sighed and apologized: "Sorry for shouting. But really, I'm fucking dying here."

Johannes swallowed hard and picked up speed, running a yellow light. "R-right, I'm going as fast as I can. Viola, please buckle up."

Daniel reclined in his seat, his breathing uneven and wheezy, and turned his head to look at Charles. The bisharp stared back, eyes soft and mouth twisted into a frown of concern. With a sound that fused a bracing chuckle and wet cough, he said, "Good job tonight bud. Don't worry about me. Been through worse. Way fuckin' worse, you know that."

The bisharp returned an uncertain nod and a grunt of worry.

"Besides, now I've got a real good scar to set an example for the rest I'll be getting on my back." He wiped blood from the corners of his mouth and reclined his head against the headrest, still chuckling.

Then he passed out.


	15. Chapter 15

Daniel groaned as he stirred in his bed and, with some effort, sat up. His back, shoulder, bits of his face - all of him, really - stung. But Doc came through, like always. He didn't remember most of what happened; according to Johannes, he and Charles dragged him into the laundromat and Doc went to work at once. He  _had_  punctured a lung, though only just, and while Doc's "patch" job was intended to shorten his recovery time, he also wasn't a miracle worker.

Six to eight weeks was the standard; with a lightly punctured lung that received a little fancy treatment that involved, as Johannes put it, "bottles of substances I didn't want to know the contents of," Daniel's prognosis looked like he'd be back in action in two or three weeks flat. Johannes also mentioned that Doc insisted he buy a new anti-stab vest as soon as he could as well, "as it was the only thing that kept you from earning a one-way ticket to the plains of the Alpha."

Bed rest, minimal strenuous activity, maybe some time reading books, or writing a will - this was what he required, or so said Doc. Daniel intended to completely ignore these orders.

He rubbed his eyes and recoiled when he saw Ana kneeling on the bed, staring at him with a wide, unblinking eye, her iris quivering to the left and right with minute little movements that looked unreal. Her mane of wild black hair had begun to take on the curious deep, rich purple quality it had the last time she was actively practicing, and it curtained her other eye. Tied with brilliant red yarn to locks of her hair here and there were tags adorned with black runes that Daniel could not decipher.

She was also nude; her bare chest and stomach bore an immense midnight blue rune made of dried paint. She leaned forward and reached out with a trembling hand to cup Daniel's face.

Her lips moved but he heard nothing. The hair that obscured her other eye shifted, and he stared back into mismatched eyes - one, a soft black rimmed with a delicate purple, the other a brilliant violet adorned with a pitch-black spiral that wound out from the pupil.

"W-what?" asked Daniel. Her fingers felt like ice.

Ana crawled towards him and pulled him into an embrace, thick drapes of hair falling all around him. She squeezed and began to wail.

"Ana, please," said Daniel, pushing himself away from her, "what's wrong?"

She seized his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, her own bloodshot and her cheeks tear-streaked. "They burnt away your soul. I saw it. I fixed it, I fixed it, I fixed it. I was so worried." Her words were breathy, almost inaudible whispers. She pressed her lips against his - they too felt like ice, though when she pulled away Daniel was relieved that she was at least smiling now. "The shades cannot burn away the soul completely, not so long as you have a shred of it left. I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it."

She pulled him into an embrace again and began to sob. "I can make you whole again."

Daniel sighed as she pushed him down onto her lap and began to run her fingers through his hair. Where Ana may have been smiling, his own face was pulled into a tight-lipped frown.  _I need to kill this fucking King. She's almost gone._

"Daniel," she said, her voice distant.

"What?" he replied.

"I love you."

Daniel closed his eyes. "I love you too."

* * *

"This is a day to rest, Daniel. So should the next several days, really," signed Ricard.

"Oh, come on, Ricard. I could be out there digging through the sewers looking for another way to get through that wall with the seal on it. It probably leads into the sewers anyway, given we were underground in that office," replied the detective. The deaf-mute crossed his arms and pointed insistently at Daniel's couch. With a groan, Daniel pulled his jacket off and tossed it onto chest of drawers next to the door. "Can I go buy a new anti-stab vest?"

Ricard's eyes narrowed and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. He was not pleased.

"Fuck, fine." Daniel trudged to his couch and laid down on it. His back twinged as laid weight on his bandaged injury, and the felt someone tap on his shoulder. It was Ana, now thankfully fully clothed. On her shoulder sat Jean, who stared at Daniel with narrowed eyes and a frown.

"You told me to nap, but they wouldn't stop screaming," she whispered. Dark circles sat beneath her eyes - how they'd developed in the few hours since Daniel had last seen her eluded him. She sat him up and then laid his head down on her lap after she sat down. She traced a finger around the small bit of gauze taped to his face over the tiny pits the salazzle's poison had eaten away.

Daniel frowned. He reached up and put a hand to her cheek - she grasped it with her free hand and held it against her face. A smile spread across her lips.

"They keep screaming, but your aura wards them. They will not come near while your light still burns." Her hand went slack and she slouched into the cushion behind her, asleep.

The detective dropped his hand and turned to look at the television. "Charles, can you toss me the remote?"

The bisharp sat nearby at the kitchen table, sliding a whetstone across the blades upon his arms in a steady rhythm. With a grunt of affirmation, he stood and picked up the remote from the floor to the side of the couch and tossed it to Daniel.

The detective caught it and switched the television on. A weight settled on his stomach - it was Jeanette. She threw him a dirty look, her mouth in a deep frown and her eyes narrowed and then turned to the television.

"Look, I get that banette are supposed to be angry and spiteful, but you're plenty nice to Ana and a bitch to me. What gives? Why don't you like me?" asked Daniel. His tone carried only the faint bite of annoyance, and it bothered him. He'd been tough on Jean the entire time he'd known her, but now, with Ana's health weighing heavy on his mind, he found it difficult to avoid becoming misty-eyed. Jean had been invaluable in keeping Ana sane, and the fact the two of them never properly got along bothered him somewhere in his heart of hearts.

The banette looked away from the weather broadcast, still frowning, though the muscles that formed her brows had become softer. Distressed. Sad, even. She looked from Daniel to Ana's peaceful, sleeping visage and then back to the detective again. She inclined her head and turned back to the television.

Strange whispers, soft shrieks and hushed murmurs met Daniel's ears, all of it incomprehensible. His eyes widened - she was responding to him, though the meaning of her strange tongue was lost on him.

Charles raised his head from his task and watched Jean speak.

" **...don't seem to understand. I am nearly full. The tear in the veil that seeps into her body will overflow me soon, and when that happens, it will have nowhere to go but her body, and it will pour from her eyes, her mouth - all of her. When that happens...she'll be gone.**

" **I will not lose Ana. But she is willing to lose herself. For you."**

The banette reached up and brushed a curious swirling black and purple liquid from the corner of her eye.

Daniel's mouth fell open. "I… I don't know what the fu-" He cleared his throat. "I don't know what you just said, but… I'm sorry."

Whether she heard, understood him - even cared - Daniel did not know, as the banette made offered him no acknowledgement. He heard Charles growl something in his strange tongue and furrowed his brow. To his surprise, the bisharp stood, strode over to Daniel and picked up the banette, then walked out of the room with her laying in his arms.

Daniel watched his bisharp trudge out of the room and close the door behind him. "What was that?" He turned to Ricard. "Why the fuck did d'Artangan have to be asleep  _now?_ "

* * *

Jeannette could not meet Charles' eyes. He had sat her on the sink in the bathroom and kept turning her head in an attempt to get her to face him and finally growled, " **Look at me."**

Tears began to roll down the banette's eyes and she complied. " **What? Is this what you want? To see me cry?"**

" **They are mates. You know that, Jeannette."**  He continued to look her in the eyes.

The banette buried her face in her hands. " **He will be the death of her. And she will march to her end willingly. What kind of ward am I if I let that happen? Especially if I cannot stop it? I guide her through the infinite black, away from pits and the gaping maws of restless spirits that have claimed many souls. But she'll walk. Willingly.** _ **Willingly.**_   **To her end."**  She looked up at Charles, the red sclera of her eyes tinged with purple. " **I'm scared."**

" **Be scared,"**  he said. The banette looked at him in confusion. " **Be afraid. But always act. Always defend. Faltered before, in the tunnels. Feared the heart and the pedestal. Feared the calls of the King. Will not be stopped now. Daniel willing to die for me."**  He beat his chest thrice with a balled hand. " **Will die for Daniel."**

Jeannette sprang from the sink and wound her arms around Charles, pulling him into an embrace and began to sob. " **You idiot. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of surviving without Ana. If she overflows, she'll be gone."**

Charles sighed and gave Jean a few pats on the back. " **Will survive. Will not overflow. King will be dead soon."**

Jean pulled away from him and cupped his cheeks. " **Promise?"**

Charles tried to wrench his head from her grasp as he mumbled, " **Promise."**

She kissed his cheek. " **Thank you."**  She rushed from the room, phasing through the door.

Charles sighed and then chuckled. " **Wasn't lips at least."**

* * *

Daniel tore his eyes from the weather forecast when he saw Jeannette phase through the door, followed shortly after by Charles. Whatever it was that they had done had improved the banette's mood somewhat. To his surprise, she came to a stop before him, floating in the air and looked him in the eyes.

She averted her gaze for a moment and mumbled something incoherent. With what sounded like a chorus of sighs, she looked back at him and pressed a single stubby finger to his forehead. When she pulled it away, a thin grey thread linked his forehead and her finger.

" **Bridge the veil. Burn the light of the soul brighter. Through the here and hereafter."** The thread shone a brilliant white and then dissipated. Jeannette finished her incantation and then floated back to Ana's shoulder and sat herself upon it.

"What was that?" asked Daniel, sitting up and glancing from Jean to Charles to Ricard. "No, really, what was that?"

Charles chuckled and sat back down at the table to resuming sharpening his arm blades.

Ricard snapped his fingers several times to attract Daniel's attention and pointed at the television - a woman stood in front of the  _Diggersby_ , interviewing a woman whose face had been blurred. Daniel flipped the closed captions on and sat up with a groan, the wound in his back protesting the sudden exertion.

" _...and next thing I knew there were gunshots. Something was throwing these awful balls around and people and pokemon were dropping everywhere. It was horrible, this club has never been like this before."_

The reporter nodded and thanked the woman for her time. She walked off screen and was replaced by an officer clutching a mug. His unshaven face, baggy, bloodshot eyes and slouched posture betrayed what Daniel guessed was a very long night.

" _Do you have anything to offer concerning a motivation for the attack, Officer Bisset? Or any comment on rumors of a body count in the dozens?"_  asked the reporter.

The officer yawned and waved off the question. " _No, no, no. There aren't a_  dozen  _dead. We've confirmed four dead, and I am at liberty to divulge that of those four, two were pokemon, a salazzle and a female braixen. We've yet to identify their owners."_

" _Have the causes of death been determined?"_

The officer waved the question off again. " _I am not at liberty to release that information. It will be made available at a later time. I am, however, required to inform the populace that the club that was hit is_ not  _in violation of any city ordinances concerning sexual misconduct with pokemon, and is nothing more than a standard nightclub and brothel."_

The reporter's eyes widened. " _Officer, there have been numerous reports-"_

Bisset grumbled and pushed the microphone away. His voice was less audible as he turned away and was not captioned, but Daniel caught him mumbling, "Merde _. Just leave us alone, lady."_

Daniel signed this to Ricard before adding, "These  _fils de chiennes_  are just flat out denying that the  _Diggersby_  is a pokephile brothel? Half the fucking city knows if you're that deep in the  _rouge_  then human-only brothels are the godsdamned  _exception_."

The accountant, however, looked at his friend with wild eyes. "You mentioned a seal. Behind a bookshelf. The police are investigating. We have an opportunity if I call in one more favor, Daniel."

The detective raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were out of favors to call in."

Ricard shook his head. "I am, but I can ask for a favor and cut my contact an IOU. He'll take me up on the offer, I know it." He stood and made for the front door. "He hates the  _rouge_  as much as you or I."

Daniel glanced at Charles, his brows furrowed and said, "What the hell is he up to?" The bisharp shrugged. With a sigh, he added, "Well I'm gonna enjoy my forced day off I guess. Wake me up in an hour, I have to call Jo." Charles looked up from his blades and nodded.

At this, Daniel sat up and scooted next to Ana, lifted her arm and tucked himself under it, reclining his head against her shoulder. He intertwined his fingers with hers and closed his eyes.

* * *

Ricard stared at Pierre's digital face with a hard expression on his own. He signed, his movements sharp and insistent, "This is your chance, Pierre. You won't get another one - just show up and insist that you've been assigned to help with investigation. Take along enough plastic explosive to tear down that wall and  _destroy_  what is inside."

The police officer groaned. He had the authority to do so - he'd never had the privileges revoked even after he'd taken that punch to his leg that shattered the bones in it.  _Bloody machoke bodyguards._  He  _could_  assemble a team of men, declare a sweep of the  _Diggersby_  and do what Ricard asked.

"I do not want to do this, Ricard," he signed back, shaking his head. "I did not want to know what you were doing before, and I certainly do not want to know  _now_."

Ricard slammed his hands on the table and then began to sign with sharper, furious motions. "You do not understand the gravity of the situation! Whatever is behind that wall is protected by something beyond your comprehension, but not beyond the comprehension offered by the liberal application of plastic explosive. There could be drugs in that wall. Shipping manifests that could put the  _Diggersby_  under. There could be both. Whatever it may be, there is something in there that I must  _demand_  you destroy, and you will know it when you see it. Shoot it. Crush it. Stab it. Just. Kill. It." The accountant's chest heaved, his raspy, short breaths coming through as static on Pierre's end.

With another groan, Pierre turned to pull up a list of reserve team members available for this "operation" from the console at his desk. He scanned the names and tapped three of the ones he knew were trustworthy to ping them to meet with him later. "Fine. I know I said I would not do another favor for you, but I shall do so. But you  _owe_  me, Ricard. You are in my debt now, not the other way around. Understood?" he signed.

With a sigh of relief, the accountant nodded. "Of course. And thank you, Pierre. When you arrive at the Diggersby, you will understand why it is I say you are doing the right thing."

"I will be able to mobilize them in roughly 48 to 72 hours," explained Pierre, "And  _yes,_  that is the absolute fastest I can get them. I cannot tap the main team, as I do not know any of them enough to trust them with this. The reserve team, however, has three extremely trustworthy members. I would put my life in any of their hands. And I like to think they feel the same way about me."

Ricard nodded again, this time with a sigh. "It can't be helped. My associate has to recover anyway."

Pierre's eyes widened. "Associate…?" He looked around and drew closer to the projection, signing with smaller, more discreet movements, "That's not the lunatic that went in and fired a gun off in a nightclub is it?"

With a roll of his eyes and the ghost of a smile, Ricard replied, "Please give me a call before you move out. If I don't respond, leave a message, but do not let me delay you. This must be done no matter what." He hung up.

Unseen, Pierre continued to stare at the inactive holocaster and sighed. "You crazy bastard," he mumbled.

* * *

Vassal rubbed his face in irritation. He sat in his office deep in the  _Diggersby_  and watched with mounting frustration as it was picked apart and inspected by the police. The dead salazzle had long since been removed, but the various bullet holes in the walls, the blood stains upon the wood floor and little droplets of once molten metal had left the entire room worse for the wear. Exacerbating this was the clean-up team in charge of scrubbing the evidence out. When they had mopped away the last of the blood, he urged them from the room.

The trap had failed.  _That connard Terrence, much as he might have done to bungle this, is not entirely at fault. That detective and his bisharp… they are resourceful. They have worked in the rouge before. Know what to look for, and how to act. And that bastard knew how to prepare._  His mind wandered to the empty antidote syringes they'd found in his office and the discarded spray bottle. He thought of how they'd breached the club door to the hallway that led to his office with some kind of silent device - but knew to simply shoot the doorknob off once he'd made it to the other end of the hall.

"Terrence wasn't shot out of carelessness or lack of ability - not entirely, anyway. They did not penetrate this club, control the situation and escape with their lives through dumb luck. Not entirely. No...this man and his pokemon - they are the worst kind of dangerous, Karan: they are  _competent._ " Vassal reclined in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. "And there is no easy way around competence."

Karan was only half-listening, and responded to his declaration with a faraway kind of purr. She had spent the entire monologue running a claw down the cut on her forehead that stretched up behind her plumage. Each stroke filled her with a cocktail of emotions.

Stroke.

Rage. She grit her teeth and hissed.

Stroke.

Desire. She purred and threw a glance at Vassal.

Stroke.

 _Fear_. She felt herself sucked backward through a hole in the wall somewhere far behind her. She sped past an incomprehensible array of colors and sounds and landed in dark alley.

Cold. Alone. Stinking. Aching. Dying.

She snapped out of her nightmarish vision with a loud hiss lined with fury and concealing fear. She turned to Vassal, her eyes wide and wild and jumped on him; her hands seized his face and a claw traced a delicate line down his cheek. Her eyes softened and a quiet, inviting purr rose out of her throat.

Vassal scoffed. "Upset, are we, Whore?" He turned away from the light touch of her claw and shook his head. "You'll doom the King if you intend to use me as an outlet to vent the frustration over your little cut." Karan's eyes widened in anger again. "You almost  _died_ , whore. It is through dumb luck - DUMB LUCK - that you are alive right now."

Karan recoiled, her eyes widening in fear and a whimper rising out of her chest. Vassal saw his own smirking visage reflected in the glassy orbs: unshaven face, unkempt black hair, and bloodshot green eyes. His smirk widened to a smile and he tossed Karan off of himself onto his desk, where she scuttled back to its edge away from him. He slammed his hands down on either side of her and drew close to her face. "Do you understand that,  _Whore_? Luck saved you last night. You are not invincible. You are not almighty." He seized her by the cheeks and pressed his lips against hers. "You are  _nothing_ but  _a little Whore._  You would do well to remember that. Your strength does not keep you alive. It is the King who saved you. Do. Not. Forget." He backhanded her, sending her flying from the desk with a shriek of pain.

"Tell that useless  _Peasant_ we are going to stake out the home of this  _obstacle_  and his  _precious knife_  in two days time. And then we will return to the King and see him ascended." He pointed to the stairwell out of his office and roared, "NOW!"

Karan stumbled from the room and sprinted up the stairs and out of sight.

Vassal collapsed into his chair and stared at the ceiling again. He ran two fingers across his lips.

* * *

Viola shuddered and rolled off of Johannes, panting. She seized his head and pulled him close to her chest, the horn that stuck out from her phasing through him completely. She muttered something soft and musical in her language.

Johannes blazed a trail of kisses up her chest, neck and across her lips, then brushed her messy hair aside and kissed her forehead before rolling onto his back. He threw her a smile and groped on the nightstand for his C-Gear to check the time.

His wife rolled to her side and laid a hand across his chest and began to draw tiny circles. Her voice came alive in his head as a blaze of pinks and greens, " _Are you expecting a call, Johannes?"_

The researcher nodded and laid his arm down at his side. "Yeah. I'm waiting for Daniel to give me a ring. He said in his anesthetic-induced stupor to expect a call from me at some point today, and I wasn't too sure when it'd be coming. I'm wondering if maybe we should just go visit him."

He felt her lock a leg with his to the sound of a low whine. She brushed her lips against his cheek and begged, " _No, no, no. Let's just stay in bed. We spent last night in the essence of nightmares themselves; we do not need to be in such a hurry to throw ourselves into the line of danger again. Besides, you heard what Daniel's doctor said - he needs bed rest for at least two weeks."_

The C-Gear began to ring and Johannes threw Viola a meaningful look before answering. The gardevoir pouted and rolled over. "Johannes." He heard a long, poorly stifled yawn and then Daniel continued, "Sorry. Had a nap. Today's a dead day, no getting around it. Come by tomorrow. Early. Got shit to discuss."

"Sure thing," replied Johannes. To his side, Viola rolled over, excitement written large on her face with a matching wide smile.

" _Is the rest of the day ours? Can we actually treat today as a part of the vacation we were ostensibly on?"_ she asked. Explosions of bright pink and green rippled across the ether of Johannes' thoughts. " _This is wonderful!"_

Johannes chuckled before speaking into the C-Gear, "Alright. We'll be by tomorrow. How's your lung?"

"Punctured."

The researcher frowned. "Well, you're taking it easy, right?"

"Today."

His frown deepened. "And tomorrow?"

"Probably."

Johannes shook his head. "Daniel, you can't just throw yourself back-"

"Who the fuck says I can't? Be here tomorrow. We'll discuss a plan of action and hit up Prism Tower again. Personally, I think it's high time we take advantage of what Viola can do. A dowsing rod could come in handy pretty well, especially when you see that door Charles and I had to deal with." He paused and grunted in an undertone, "Gods damn it all this stings."

"Daniel?"

The detective continued, ignoring Johannes' interjection, "Just be here. Don't worry about my health. You got yours and your wife's to worry about as is. Got it?" His voice became distant, and Johannes caught him saying, "Ana, what are you doing? No no no, hon, please put your dress back on - where the fuck did you get all this paint? Jean! Jean, for fuck's sake, help!" The voice became clear again and he added, "Ana's going off the deep end soon. Not now, but soon. This shit I'm used to but I'm fucking rusty, so just - Ana, honey, please stop trying to paint runes on my stomach, please just sit down - I need this shit done yesterday. Not losing her to my own shitty decisions or this fucking Ghost King." A loud wail came through the receiver and crackled, followed by Daniel's distant voice shouting, "What, Jean, this book? What the fuck is "The Fourth Cant of the Renegade?" I can't read this shit, it's in fucking-" A distorted shriek rang out from the receiver and Johannes heard Daniel hastily reciting something in accented, stumbling, broken Sinnohan.

The line went dead. Johannes stared at his C-Gear and turned to look at Viola. The gardevoir's eyes were wide and her mouth was turned into a thin frown.

" _What on earth_ was  _that?"_ she asked.

Johannes tossed his C-Gear aside and pulled her into an embrace. "I don't know. But it sounds like we're going to need your help in some weird room at the bottom of Prism Tower."

Viola held Johannes tight against her body. Her breaths came as soft shudders and she caressed his face with a frown. For a long while, she stared into her husband's eyes and then finally said, " _I don't want to lose you."_

The researcher brushed his lips against hers and brought a hand to the small of her back. "You won't, I promise," he mumbled. "We'll be fine. Daniel's got an idea, he's ready to act, and we've got your mega stone and-"

Viola kissed him and rolled on top of him. She broke away for a moment and mumbled something, holding his cheeks in her hands.

"What?"

She looked at him, a small, sad smile on her face. She planted her lips against his, and a chorus of pinks and blues erupted in Johannes' head. No words came with them.


	16. Chapter 16

Daniel sat at the kitchen table across from Johannes and Viola. He looked about at the people and pokemon with him. The couple looked terrible, and while they didn't have the lines and scars befitting a fifty year-old clashing terribly with a face in its late twenties, they did have dark circles beneath their eyes that were not there when he had first met them just a few days ago. At the head of the table to his left sat Charles, focused on the liechi berry tart sitting on a plate before his trainer. Now and again his hand would inch towards the treat and then retreat when Daniel's head turned towards him. At the other end of the table sat Ricard, his eyes shifting from Daniel to Charles to Johannes, and then to d'Artagnan as he walked up and down the table. Ricard gestured at the xatu, and d'Artagnan flew up and settled atop the back of his partner's chair with a click of his beak.

Ana sat to the right of Daniel. In sharp contrast to the tense air at the table, she was wrapped in a comforter that turned her figure into a mass of blanket. Part of it hung atop her head and occasionally flapped in front of her face. With a giggle that echoed too much for the room they were in, she would blow it out of the way. Jeannette sat upon her shoulder, a grave expression upon her face, her zipper turned down into a frown.

Daniel sighed. "I decided yesterday - and doubled down on it while you were on your way here - that we're hitting Prism Tower. There's a weird as fuck room at the bottom and beyond it is hiding-" He snapped his fingers, trying to find a way to articulate himself and finally settled on, "Something, I guess. I don't know, it has to be. Must be. That door is hiding something. Could be the King himself, if d'Artagnan's visions are anything to off of of. Ricard says he's got someone to take care of the symbol upon the wall in the  _Diggersby_ , and-" He paused and shook his head. "I don't know how many hearts there are. We've taken care of one. There was a murdered body in that alley you were in so there's probably another nearby? There was that abandoned building at the edge of the  _rouge_  that didn't have anything, so there's probably another in the sewers beneath. Unless the  _Diggersby_  is housing that one. But we were operating under the impression that the symbols marked where a heart would be."

" _Is it not worth continuing to pursue these hearts then, Mortician?"_  asked d'Artagnan.

The detective sat up in his chair and winced at the pain in his back. He cursed his punctured and patched lung under his breath. "I think we're past the point of finding the rest of these hearts. We took care of one. That should be enough for now, we at least know where to to go looking if we think it's been replaced."

" _Has_  it been replaced?" asked Johannes. Daniel looked up at the researcher and frowned. "I mean… how long has it been since you took care of it?"

"Around a week," signed Ricard. D'Artagnan broadcasted the message for him.

" _That is rather concerning. Has no one gone to check?"_  asked Viola.

"We haven't really had the time: went from hearts, to you showing up to get wrapped up in this, to Ana and her augur, Prism Tower and the  _rouge_  - and now we're here." Daniel took a sip from his coffee and set the cup back down, looking to Charles long enough to give him a single nod. The bisharp dug into his trainer's pastry immediately. "And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly working within the boundaries of the law. Wigs and generally knowing how to keep a low profile have kept me out of the eyes of the police, but what we're about to do could spill over above ground. I don't know really. Anything could happen. All I know is we have to move. Probably tomorrow. Today I'm getting a hold of some gear and making my peace." He paused and then added, "Again."

Johannes swallowed hard. "Again?"

"I always make my peace with everything before I do anything this monumentally stupid, uninformed or both."

" _How...uninformed is this push into the lower parts of Prism Tower?"_ asked Viola.

Daniel trained his eyes on the gardevoir and then stood. He walked to the dresser by his front door and rummaged about it. The sounds of clicks and clacks, the shuffling of heavy cloth and the clink of metal against metal filled the still air of the room. He slammed the drawer shut and returned the table, where he dumped a handgun, suppressor, two magazines filled with ammunition, and the dagger Ana had gifted him on the table.

"I take this with me whenever I have to do work in the  _rouge_  or somewhere I expect heavy resistance. Alongside a complement of medicine and potions." The gardevoir look on with incomprehension etched across her face.

Daniel set a piece of charcoal down on the table and then gestured at it with an open hand. "When I don't know what's going on though - I get this.  _This_  is my "oh-shit" button. And so…" He pointed to Jean. "...is she."

He unloaded one of the magazines and gathered the ten bullets in his hand. "Jeannette. Curse these." The banette glanced down at his hand and then up at Daniel. There was a softness in her eyes that he hadn't seen before as she unzipped her mouth and popped the bullets in, one by one. He heard Johannes mumble something indistinct, and turned to face the researcher. "What?"

Johannes shook his head. "Nothing." His eyes betrayed intrigue, however, and he sat up straighter, his eyes trained on the banette with professional interest.

An aura of purple light sprung to life around the banette and her eyes flashed a kaleidoscope of purples, reds and pinks. A minute later she unzipped her mouth and spat the bullets back out into her hand; they were glowing a rich indigo and smoking slightly. She returned the bullets to Daniel and zipped her mouth shut again.

As he loaded the bullets into his magazine, he looked between the couple across from him and explained; "Soaked in ghost energy. Gengar thought he had trouble before? That poor bastard won't know what hit him now. Might outright kill him, even on a would-be nonfatal leg shot."

He set the magazine down on the table, the bullets inside still lightly smoking and their glow visible through the slit along one side. He unloaded the second magazine, lined the bullets up before him, then picked up a single one and his charcoal. He rolled the blackened wood between his fingers and it too began to smoke. The smell of burning wood rose into the air around the table, and Johannes' jaw dropped.

"Is that…is that…"

Daniel etched a symbol upon the tip of each of the bullets in turn, and replied to Johannes with a simple, "Yes."

" _Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth?"_  asked the researcher, incredulous.

"Ricard does. Made up the cost and then some by this point." He eyed the bullet he'd just marked and then set it down. "Blessed by the Fire of Rebirth itself, guaranteed." He grinned and looked at Ricard. "Bastard's got contacts that go beyond just this city, you know. A little limited, but the only people that compete with Sinnohans and how crazy they are about history are Johtoans. He's got some scrolls tucked away in his library that were drawn up by one of the only traditional scribes left in the whole damn region." He began to load the magazine, and continued, "So naturally I asked him to get me a piece of charcoal. Nothing like a little extra oomph to help you along when you try to put down a raging cacturne."

Daniel held a bullet up to his face and turned it around in his hand, eyeing it with a stern expression. "I'm putting one of these right between your fucking eyes, knifecat." He loaded one last bullet into his magazine and set it down, then picked up his dagger. "And now I just need this to hurt the aegislash. Ana, do you have a spare cloth?" He turned to his girlfriend, who turned to face with with a wide smile and a giggle.

"Of course I do. I have plenty. Plenty. Plenty. Plenty." Her eyes widened and she shook her head to toss hair from her face - they both bore the bizarre spirals that wound out from her pupils now. "Jean!" She seized the floating banette and turned the pokemon about to face her. "Cloth…" She dragged the word out and delicately unzipped the banette's mouth before pressing her hand into the puppet's mouth. A confused, searching expression arose on Ana's face as she drove her arm further into the banette, before her eyes lit up and she pulled her arm free, clutching a long strip of cloth that glowed a soft indigo. "Yes, yes, yes, here it is. Take it, take it, take it." She held it between her thumb and forefinger and dangled it before Daniel, giggling.

The detective took the cloth from her with a frown and looked down at it. He set it upon the table and brought a hand up to Ana's face and rubbed her cheek. It was cold. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, barely audible.

Ana's smile settled into a dreamy sort of grin and she sighed with content. She brought a hand up to cup his and closed her eyes. They opened again a second later, and had become their original soft black. Her brow furrowed and she clutched his hand. "Be careful." The dreamy expression came across her face again and she closed her eyes once more. When she opened them again they had returned to their bizarre, spiral state.

Daniel sighed and took to wrapping the cloth around the handle of his dagger, letting a small trail of cloth hang from it when he finished. He inspected the pommel of the dagger and unscrewed it, revealing the handle to be partially hollow, though only just. An indentation into the otherwise solid build of the handle was long and wide enough to allow the piece of charcoal to slide in snugly, and after slipping the burnt piece of wood into dagger, he replaced the pommel and screwed it tightly back on.

Johannes eyed the dagger with a look of unease. "That's going to hurt whatever you stick it through."

The detective chuckled. "You think? Any other stunning observations?" When he flicked the broad side of the blade, the edges glowed a brilliant orange for an instant and then faded. "That's the whole point. Anyway, I've got some shopping to do. Come along if you want, might be able to sneak in some touristy shit while you're at it. Then, tomorrow night we're going to head out and take care of our business in Prism Tower."

"Is this really wise, Daniel?" signed Ricard, tapping the table insistently to get his attention. The detective turned to look his friend in the face. Worry had found its way into the deaf-mute's eyes. "You are less than recovered. You are perhaps only at the doorstep of "recovery", much less anything beyond it."

Daniel shrugged. "Don't have much of a choice Ricard." He gestured with his head towards Ana. "Between what little sand we got in the glass with her and the crazy shit d'Artagnan saw through the augur, I think we're no longer in any position to delay any longer than we absolutely have to."

A loud squawk rang out, and d'Artagnan flapped his wings in a frenzy to keep himself from falling to the floor. Ricard turned about in alarm when he felt his chair wobble and signed at him, "d'Artagnan? Are you alright? What happened?"

The xatu flapped his wings and shook his head, anxious. " _My apologies, Merchant. A vision gripped me. One that was not of the tapestry."_  He scanned the room and then looked back down at Ricard. " _Forgive me. It was a_ bizarre  _vision. One that smelled of fetid water and putrid unknown. There were shadows dancing across wet stonework and with a sound like bare feet against wet pavement and the patter of the rain against cobble; one of the shadows went sailing through air-"_  He caught himself and clicked his beak. " _It was nonsense. These visions did not provide me with anything of use. Though they do concern me. It is incredibly rare that a vision comes to me that is not of the tapestry._ " A pause. " _It is rare that a vision comes to me at all,"_  he added, his tone somewhat sheepish.

"You don't think it was of us in the sewers, do you?" asked Daniel. "Sounds an awful lot like the sewers."

" _Impossible. None of the shadows even remotely resemble anyone present. I expect I may have stumbled upon the prediction that reveals to me the fate of a set of workers that are performing maintenance somewhere beneath the streets."_

Neither Daniel nor Ricard looked convinced, though the former shrugged, and with a noncommittal jerk of his head said, "We should get going, Jo. I'll see you to your hotel afterwards."

The researcher nodded and stood. To his side, Viola followed suit, and he, his wife, Daniel and Charles excused themselves and left the apartment.

* * *

Johannes waved goodbye to Daniel, and looked down at the vests in his hand with unease. The detective had insisted on acquiring vests for everyone, Viola included, though Johannes noticed that Jean and  _all_  of Daniel's Pokemon were going to go without.

 _A balloon, a dog and a walking cutlery rack don't take to vests very well, in case you haven't noticed._ Johannes fought down a bizarre urge to grin as he thought the statement over. He was right - grim as that fact may have been.

Viola's hand clenched at his chest, balling some of his shirt in her fist, and he he heard her take a deep, shaking breath. A hand came up to his cheek and when he turned to look at his wife, her face was alight with a bizarre cocktail of emotions. She tugged at his shirt with insistence, and a petal danced across the surface of his lips. He saw tears well in the corner of her eyes, and an array of dull blues and blinding pinks danced across his thoughts.

He sighed and nodded.

* * *

Johannes sat at the edge of his bed, facing the open window that spread the city of lights out before him. Behind him Viola lay still, her breathing slow and quiet and her hair a mess. Now and again he'd hear her mutter something in her strange tongue and a tiny burst of pink, blue or yellow would pop into the corner of his thoughts.

The researcher dug his face into this hands and yawned. She was insatiable and inconsolable, and once again he felt as if he was sitting in that tent, staring at her all those years ago in the dead of the Kantoan winter. He looked up, his limbs weary and aching, his eyes heavy, and his entire body, no doubt, in desperate need of a shower. It was nearly two in the morning, and still the city of lights burned.

He heard sheets rustle, and felt the bed shift and hands snake their way over his shoulders. One came up to caress his cheek, the other worked its way between his legs.

"Viola, it's two in the morning," he muttered, equal parts incredulous and weary.

She bit his ear and moaned softly - and then her hands came to his chest and she sagged onto him, sobbing.

Johannes turned about with some difficulty and fell back onto the bed, pulling his wife into an embrace. He kissed the crown of her head and mumbled, "It's going to be alright honey. We're going to be just fine." She sobbed harder into his chest, choking out incomprehensible sounds between cries and pulled him closer.

He shuffled them both awkwardly up the bed and onto the pillows and drew the covers over their naked bodies and began to caress her face. The crying eventually subsided, and shortly after, so did his consciousness.

* * *

Terrence groaned. "This is going to end  _terribly_ , Vassal," grumbled the gengar. His limbs ached, and he felt empty - too much of his essence had leaked out over the past few days, and he had long past moved the point of worry to outright fear. Essence resurged slowly on its own without a source to draw from, and Vassal had been loath to send him to a Center, believing any time spent recovering there would be better spent trying to track down their targets. "I'm almost in no condition to fight, and you  _still_  want to throw me at them. I'm going to get in the way."

Vassal adjusted the collar on his jacket and tugged his beanie more snugly around his head. He cleared his throat and threw a single, severe glance at Karan, who had been peeking over the edge of the car door and out the window. The weavile turned to look at him and with a grimace and a growl, then sank back down with a murderous expression on her face. Vassal's face contorted into a snarl and the weavile cowed. The man drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and ignored the ghost's whinging. "There they are," he said curtly. "Ready yourselves. We could spring an attack at any moment. We only need them somewhere isolated enough."

"Oh, that ought to be easy enough, this city has plenty of utterly deserted places we can take advantage of," called out Terrence, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just make sure you run them into an alley first."

Vassal ignored this as well, and turned on the car and waited for their targets to get into their own. Terrance saw that the windows and windshields had been completely destroyed and frowned. "Where the hell did they rent that car from?" Vassal said. Karan peeked over the edge of her door again and eyed the car. She caught sight of the bisharp she'd fought - he was recalled into a ball and his owner sat down in the car. "Karan get  _down_." At this, Vassal grabbed the weavile's head and roughly shoved her down into the seat again. "They're pulling away." He looked down at Karan, who stared back with eyes that hid a quiet rage. "Do not forget what I told you." She frowned and nodded once.

* * *

Johannes could hear the murmurs of the passersby on the sidewalk and those that crossed the intersection. The destroyed windows and cracked and ruined windshields made sure of it. He had been reluctant to mention the state of the car to Viola, who had precious little concept of how it was that car rentals functioned. Daniel's snickers and low whistles whenever another piece of cracked glass fell loose from the rear window left Johannes dreading when he'd have to return the car to the rental place. He adjusted the rearview mirror with a frown - it, like the side mirrors, had also cracked and a large piece of it had fallen off and left him with a much narrower view of his rear than he liked.

"Take that yellow, Charles hates being cooped up," instructed Daniel.

Johannes sped up to make the light and sighed.  _At least I don't have to sit at another intersection with people staring at me_. To his right sat his wife, while Ana, Daniel and Ricard had crammed into the backseat, and to fit, had stowed Charles and d'Artagnan into their pokeballs amid Jean's smug remarks as she settled herself in Ana's lap.

" _Johannes? Dear?"_  asked Viola in his head.

"Uh, yeah, what is it Viola?" he replied.

" _It has just occurred to me - because of Daniel's reactions, that is - that this vehicle is in...disrepair."_

"It's - it's  _just_  occurred to you? I mean, I'm glad your grasp of comedic understatement is as good as ever but-" He paused and turned to look at his wife, who stared back with a cocked head and a confused expression. "Sixteen bloody plates of the Alpha - you're serious."

Daniel threw his head back and roared with laughter, then lapsed into a fit of coughing, earning him a look of worry from Ana. He controlled his fit and gasped, "What the fuck was that expression?"

Johannes mumbled something indistinct and gave the road his full attention again. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

"That can't seriously be a fucking expression in Sinnoh," pressed Daniel.

"I said don't worry about it," said Johannes, staring at the road with determination.

" _It is. I think it's quite silly myself,"_  admitted Viola. The voice in Johannes' head bore a tone of lightness, and to his surprise, he caught the gardevoir turning in her seat to give Daniel a small smirk and a wink.

Daniel grinned and signed to Ricard while also speaking aloud, "Looks like d'Artagnan is back to being the most uptight pokemon in the room."

The deaf-mute looked between his friend and Viola and smiled. Whatever it was he signed in response, it was lost on Johannes.

* * *

The wait for the sunset had been uninteresting. Daniel beckoned for Charles to follow him, and the two broke from the group for a few minutes to procure coffee and pastries from a nearby cafe. Daniel noted a few odd stares from the passserby at the collection of people and pokemon standing outside of Prism Tower as they walked off and wondered if it looked as suspicious as it seemed.

The lights within the lobby of Prism Tower went out at last and Daniel checked his watch; it was 7pm. He sighed and took one last drag from his cigarette as he watched the receptionist from the other day leave the building and head off towards a late night cafe nearby. He beckoned for Ana, Jean and Charles to follow and mumbled, "Wait here," to the rest of the group.

Daniel peered through the glass double doors of the building and muttered, "Ana, can you get Jean to phase through this? Or are their tags in order?" Ana turned to look at Jean and nodded once and pointed at the door.

Jean smacked into the glass and frowned - she turned to Ana and shook her head once. "It would seem," Ana began, "that they do indeed have their tags in order. Must remove them. Overpower them. Destroy them. Something. Something. Something." In a flurry of purple sleeves, she placed her hands on the doors, her fingers spread wide. Her hair whipped around, glowing a pale purple and her hands flashed violet once. " _Ketsuretsu_!"

Nothing happened. Daniel put a hand on her shoulder and asked, "Ana? Ana, what was that?"

She twitched her shoulder once and he released her. "Phase through, Jean. Unlock the door. Let us through and into the dark below." Her breathing quickened and turned to Daniel, her eyes wide and mouth pulled into a manic grin. "The dark below. The dark below. The dark below. The dark below."

Jean gave Daniel a single, mournful glance, before phasing through the door and unlocking it. The detective beckoned for the rest of the group to approach and locked the door when everyone had filed into the building.

He pointed to the door he'd used to access the stairs that led deep beneath the tower. "That one. Let's get a move on." He watched everyone head off - except for Ana, who stood, swaying on the spot, hyperventilating.

"Ana," he called to her. She did not respond. "Ana!" The hexer raised her eyes from the floor to Daniel's face and stepped up to him abruptly. She clutched his face, hands cold and dry, her nails digging in and dragging soft lines through his skin.

"Spiritsflowbelowwherethedarkturnstocoldwhereliveslayaloneinthedarkbelowthedarkbelowthedarkbelow." Her nails dug further and Daniel grimaced.

"Ana!" he shouted, grabbing hold of her shoulder. "Please." His girlfriend's eyes went wide and she let out a slow, shallow breath. "You alright?"

She continued to stare into his face as her grip loosened and changed to a soft caress. She kissed him and then turned to look at the door - Ricard and Jean stared back at them and motioned for them to hurry up. She looked back at Daniel and drew a soft caress across his cheek once more. "No."

She turned away from him and set off towards Jean, floating beside Ricard, worry etched across the banette's face.

* * *

In the tunnels, Charles waited for his partner to appear, gesturing in the meantime for the rest of the group to continue to pushing down into the tunnels. He watched as Daniel closed the door behind him and gestured for him to head down the stairs as well. "I'll bring up the rear. Besides, no one needs to see me freaking the fuck out." Charles saw the lights bouncing off pipes and piercing the musty air ahead of him drawing further away and shivered. Behind him, Daniel added, "Get goin'. They're moving up. Stand around and you'll just get caught in the dark."

The walk through the tunnels still made him uneasy. Charles felt as if his stomach had tied itself into a knot that tightened and loosened as they moved from patches of total darkness to patches dimly lit by the grimy maintenance lights above them. They reached the last flight of stairs and stood before the impenetrable door they'd tried to breach last time. Charles, like the others, trained his eyes upon it and the sign it bore, and felt his fear fade now that they'd arrived, though only just. The sewers were better and worse in their own ways. At least fighting in them was easier than this tunnel.

"Charles tried punching this door down and we got fuckin' nowhere with that. Either of you got any ideas?" asked Daniel, pointing between Jean and Viola.

The gardevoir shivered. " _Yes. Let us leave. Something wicked sits in the air. It is...awful. I can feel sorrow in the air - and somewhere far below, a bubbling, awful rage. This entire tunnel is steeped in the dying embers of regret and the quiet whispers of the lonely and forgotten._ "

" **Yes, we're all pretty aware,"**  replied Jean, rolling her eyes. The banette floated towards the door and ran her hand across it. " **But that's just how the air feels to you. There's something more. Something I can sense. I think Darty over here feels it too."**

The xatu puffed his chest out in indignation. " **My name is d'Artagnan Tlahtoa Grimaud, and it would do you well to refer to me at the very least as Conduit, much as I refer to you as Vessel and not something mean and common. Like Jeanie.** "

Viola cocked her head. " **Tlahtoa? That is...unusual sounding."**

Charles grinned and interjected, pointing at d'Artagnan as he did, " **Is concerned with ceremony. Had to pick something** _ **grand.**_ "

The xatu walked up to and then away from the door several times, a low, throbbing cry in his throat as he soaked in the surroundings. " **It is a self-chosen name taken from a list of names that Xatu often give their progeny. One of the Merchant's behavioral reports had it."** He stopped and looked about. " **The air is thick with energy of my kind, Vessel. It must be undone. If you or the Blade here could do the honors?"**

Jean summoned a ball of ghost energy in her palm and launched it at the door - the resulting flash of bright crimson blinded all present, only for their vision to clear and find the door unscathed.

Viola frowned and collected a dim ball of pink energy in her hand and then launched it at the door as well. The resulting flash of crimson was blinding, though less intense, but the door remained as unchanged as always.

" **Again,"** directed d'Artagnan. " **The flash was less intense the second time. Whatever foul trickery holds it fast is weakening. Both of you, strike it at once."**

Again the flash of crimson filled the tunnel, and was accompanied by the groaning sounds of shifting, cracking earth and the patter of pebbles upon the ground. Charles looked about and found they were no longer standing before a door, but rather a hole in the wall, with no sign a door had ever been present. Cracks in the brickwork and the pieces of broken pipe in the path that the hole in the wall opened to caught his trainer's eye, as Daniel noted, "Someone blew right through this wall. From this side. Which means we're heading in there and finding out what the fuck is going on."

Daniel pushed past the group, to the front and turned to face them all, and Charles joined his side. He brought dark energy to life across the blades in his forearms and peered around, half uneasy, half wary.

They were in the dark, in unknown territory, and the he could hear - though just barely - the whispers. The commands of this terrible King that he'd heard in the realm of the dead. He grit his teeth and continued to glance around, straining his eyes and ears to pick up any minute movement or faint sound. He chastised himself in his head. He was acting like a pawniard: weak and feeble, afraid of the unknown, dependent on the guidance - the brutal guidance - of a bisharp.

He was sick of the dark tunnels and the unknown. The random deaths and even more random locations he had accompanied Daniel. Each excursion out he could see the frustration mounting in Daniel's face, in his voice, in his stance as they walked. It rubbed off on him, made him feel like a failure. Charles bit back a growl.  _He_  was angry too. When they at last found the King, he would be able to make up for all that he could not do before. d'Artagnan, Jean, Viola - all of them were soft. They could not stand up to the king. To the weavile and gengar. To that human.

Daniel's voice sounded far away to Charles, and he pulled himself out of his contemplation long enough to hear his friend explain, "We don't know what's through this passage. We don't know what we'll find. Be ready for fucking anything and don't discount any weird sounds, even if you think you know what they are. Except you Ricard, for obvious reasons." Charles saw him make the strange hand signs and motions with his arms that Daniel always made to Ricard and watched the man respond with more strange signs and arm motions.

"This could be it. This could be a red herring, we could be out of time, we could have all the time left in the world - I don't know. But if d'Artagnan's vision is anything to go off of, the King is somewhere below us. Maybe deep. Maybe too deep for us to reach. But we're gonna fucking try." At this Daniel drew his pistol and nodded once to Ricard, who did the same. Johannes touched a finger to the metalwork of his mega stone bracelet and glanced at Viola, and the stone at her hip.

Ana reached out and pulled Jeannette to her chest and began to laugh. She kissed the top of the banette's head and marched past Daniel. "Into the dark below, where the lights of the Alpha and Renegade cease to glow."

Charles turned on the spot and looked at Daniel, his face set into a stern expression that his trainer mirrored.

"You ready, Charles?"

He raised his arms and surged dark energy through the blades upon them, snarling all the while. Tonight, a king would fall.


	17. Chapter 17

The tunnel behind the door seemed to stretch on forever. It sloped gently downwards, turning right and left at random, and the air grew steadily thicker all the while. Daniel shifted his gaze constantly as they walked and instructed Charles to watch their backs. After several minutes he said aloud, "We've been walking in a roughly square shaped spiral. Down."

Johannes glanced around at the dark, featureless, earthen tunnels - here and there a support beam would jut from the walls and he replied, "Who the hell made these tunnels? They've got support beams and they're a consistent size. This wasn't hand excavated. This was funded and done with purpose."

Daniel shrugged. "Not sure. If this is leading us to the King's fucking chamber though-" He stopped and shone his light ahead, the light catching the dull reflection of metal. It was another door, this one marked with yellow hazard tape and a large red "KEEP OUT" sign. "Well, if that's not fucking suspicious, I don't know what is. Vests on. Now." barked Daniel. He pointed to Johannes, Viola, Ana and Ricard.

Johannes looked around, then settled his gaze on Ana. "Uh, only Ana doesn't have hers on."

"That's why I told you all aloud. Help her get into hers."

Viola trembled. " _Something is terribly wrong here,"_  she broadcasted to everyone telepathically. " _Terribly, terribly wrong. This aura...it's horrid. Malevolent. Even regretful."_

" **Sounds like spirits to me,"** remarked Jean. " **Angry, unsent spirits at that. I'd be on your guard. All of you."**  At this, Charles growled and raised his arms, his blades extended and coated in a swirling black mass of energy. Anger, fear and anticipation coursed through him.

d'Artagnan squawked, his voice ringing through the tunnels and added, " _I concur with the Vessel. Best we prepare ourselves for whatever it is that may lie ahead."_  Daniel and Ricard both drew their pistols at this, and Johannes rested his palm against the mega stone set in the bracelet on his wrist.

"I've got drifblim and arcanine with me if we need them." explained Daniel to the group. "Well, arcanine anyway. I'd send Jean through, but she needs to stay with Ana. So I'm taking point. If I die,  _run._ " Jean's expression became morose and she looked at Ana, her brow furrowed. The hexer was humming a tune, and it echoed more than the tunnel should have let it. Daniel raised his pistol at the door and looked over his shoulder. "Ready?" At the collective murmur from the group and a loud wail of "Yes!" from Ana, he kicked the door open and swept his pistol from left to right, his eyes searching frantically for movement. Then, his jaw dropped. It was a lab.

"What the fuck is this?" he stepped deeper into the lab, past destroyed consoles and tables and looked around, letting out a low whistle all the while. He searched the walls for a light switch, and found one further down the side of the room. "If this fucking works then it'll be the first in what I expect is a long list of fucked up and unlikely things to happen today." He flipped the switch on, and blue lights flickered to life overhead, though some went out immediately after turning on. Charles relaxed his shoulders and sighed. A massive section of the ceiling had suffered a cave in, and many of the tables and workstations had been pushed aside or thrown aside, broken and slammed together into untidy piles. The center of the room was open and wide, dotted here and there with a few shattered glass holding tubes large enough to fit Charles.

The entire party filed through and spread out, looking around at the consoles and detritus, shifting aside tables to the sounds of groaning metal and creaking wood. Murmurs of confusion began to rise in the room. Viola looked about, shivering and whispered to Jean, " **This room is thick with wrongness. We should not be here."**

Jean let out a small laugh. " **My dear, the air has been thick with wrongness ever since we stepped foot in that maintenance tunnel. You just aren't attuned to smelling, feeling, and** _ **tasting**_   **all that is wrong with the world of the damned. Do you want help? Do you want to** _ **know**_   **as I do?"**

Viola's eyes widened. " **What does that entail?"**

Charles flipped a pile of debris and frowned at the dusty, scratched, cracked tile beneath it, then turned to look at the banette and gardevoir. Jean floated close to Viola's face and grasped it. The zipper on her face slid from one end of her face to the other and she opened her mouth. Thick black smoke began to pour from it and the air filled with wails and whispers. Viola stared back, her face frozen in horror, mouth opening and closing like a beached magikarp. Jean pressed her mouth against Viola's and blew - smoke billowed out of the sides of their lips through the imperfect seal they created and Viola's eyes rolled up in her head. Her limbs began to spasm and a muffled cry of pain rang out. Charles let out a cry of alarm and made to run towards the banette, but Johannes streaked past him.

The researcher smacked the banette aside, panting and shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Viola sagged to her knees, coughing and retching, thick puffs of black smoke tinged with sparkles of pink billowing out of her each time she tried to rid herself the vile fumes and she looked up at Johannes and Jean with streaming eyes. " _Johannes, Johannes, stop, please…"_  She coughed more and then vomited. Johannes let out a cry of rage and dug through the pack at his side and pulled out a syringe. With trembling hands he uncapped the needle and jammed it into Viola's neck.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his face flushed and eyes frantic. The gardevoir coughed again in response and wiped her mouth, nodding. He helped her to her feet and then looked at Jean, his eyes like daggers. "AGAIN, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?"

The banette zipped her mouth shut and floated over to Ana's shoulder to sit down. " **Showing her the demons."**

Johannes' brow furrowed and he muttered, "What?"

"Any of you want to tell me what the fuck you're all shouting for?" asked Daniel, stomping over to the group with Ricard and d'Artagnan. "What's with her?" he added, pointing to Viola.

"I don't know, Jean just...blew some kind of smoke into her and then Viola threw up and…" Johannes shook his head. "What the fuck is she  _doing_ , Ana? Do you even know?"

Ana's eyes widened as she focused on Johannes and a grin spread across her face. It melted away into a grimace and then she turned her attention to Viola. She stepped up to the gardevoir and put a hand to her cheek. "For precious few seconds, you can see. Look. Look around.  **Look.** " Charles gave a start, alarmed, and his eyes diverted from Jean and the unapologetic expression on her face to Ana's.

Johannes recoiled. "Was that-"

" _There is something there,_ " interjected Viola. She pointed at desk, half of its legs gone, partially submerged in debris. " _The drawer."_  Her expression betrayed abject terror, and her eyes darted back and forth, tracing things Charles could not see. He turned to see Daniel make for the desk and followed him.

Daniel threw the drawer she was pointing at open. Inside was a cloth-bound package affixed with a tag. "Sample 17-b. Unpowered. LysLabs." He growled. "Flare." He unwrapped the package, revealing a bizarre, multi-hued crystal. "What the fuck were they  _doing_?" he asked aloud. Charles saw Daniel lay his fingers on it to pick it up and he pulled them away immediately as if he'd been burned. Daniel rubbed his temple and wrapped the cloth up. "Fuck. I dunno what this is," he began, wrapping the crystal up and shoving it an overlarge plastic bag he tugged from his jacket, "but it's bad fucking news."

Charles caught a flash of metal glinting in the blued, dim light of the room and dove in front of Daniel. With a snarl, he deflected the projectile and heard it clang a few feet away. Two figures exploded out of the darkness that hung over the entryway into the lab - a weavile and the bartender from the  _Diggersby_.

" **Should not have come!"** shouted Charles in a rage, sprinting directly at the weavile. " **Cursed place for your grave."**

"Terrence! Now!" shouted the bartender.

The weavile launched itself at the bisharp right as a loud shriek rang out behind him. Charles did the smallest of double-takes to see if he could catch what it was, even as he tried to bat the weavile away with a backhand. Instead, the weavile caught hold of his arm and slashed at him with its free arm, screaming all the while.

Charles fell backwards and the world flew into disarray. He caught sight of Terrence launching a volley of shadow balls at Daniel and the rest of the group and saw the bartender slash his wrist with his dagger and spray blood and a mass of cloths along the ground - a tremendous, earsplitting wail rose in the room and became a quaking boom that shook the bisharp to his core. He slugged the weavile in the face and rolled away from it before kipping-up to his feet. He made to return to the group, but heard the weavile shout with fury.  _Too close to retreat._

Shuppets exploded out of the cloths on the ground and began to swirl around the group. Daniel slashed at them with his knife and threw a pokeball out with his freehand. His arcanine materialized with a loud howl and he shouted, "Get some fucking barriers or some kind up, throw out shadow balls yourself, fucking anything, just keep Ana, Johannes and d'Artagnan safe! Arcanine, burn these motherfuckers!"

Charles turned his attention back to the weavile and beckoned it. " **Come. Seem eager for a cursed grave,"**  he taunted. He caught the pokemon's wide slash at his face and threw it at the pile of rubble in the center of the room. " **Need name for resting stone."**

He had no sooner turned about when he wheeled around once more as he heard the weavile let out a furious scream of rage. With a shrill shriek, the weavile launched itself at Charles and fell short of him, rolling along the ground and using the momentum to spin itself about and sweep his legs out from under him. He raised an arm just in time to have the weavile's claws glance off his armored gauntlet before he swept the cat off its legs in turn and punched down square on its face. The weavile rolled aside at the last moment and backflipped away. " **My name is Karan."**  She ran at him and slashed at his gauntlets again and again, punctuating each strike with, " **And I. Serve. My King."**  She threw her final slash with enough force to send her spinning and brought her legs up in an arc. Charles felt the claws on her feet cut across his stomach and he hissed in pain as Karan retreated.

Behind him he heard gunshots ring out. He watched Karan bound up a shattered holding tube and launch herself at him from above. She overshot him and spun around, then raked at his ankles. Charles anticipated the feint this time and stepped closer to the weavile and kicked her directly in the head. She went sailing back into another holding tube, shattering it completely, blood streaming down the two vicious cuts on her face. An ominous crack rang out and the weavile crumpled to the ground, dazed.

He turned about one more time and sprinted towards Daniel, slashing at the shuppets that swirled around him to attack as he drew near the group. He felt a shadow ball connect with his leg and he tumbled forward, coming to a rolling stop at Ricard's feet. He got up, groaning and became aware of a new sound - metal clashing against metal. He looked to Daniel and saw him dodging and deflecting strikes from Vassal. He snarled and made to step towards his friend and help him, but was surprised when Daniel spared him a single glance after deflecting a heavy strike and shouted, "NO! HELP THEM!" He turned his attention back to the man and swung in a wide diagonal arc up from his hip to his shoulder. A cry of anger and pain informed Charles that Daniel's strike had hit home.

"Vassal, you idiot, this isn't working!" shouted Terrence, exploding out of debris, desks and tubes as fast as his partially-healed injuries would allow. He raised a huge ring of dancing purple flames and launched them directly at Jean, who responded by sending forth a pulse of similarly colored energy. The balls of fire exploded as they came into contact with the pulse and Jean followed up by beginning to quiver - a second later she had been joined by four copies of herself. The clones spread out before Ana, Johannes and d'Artagnan, though Viola stood in front of Johannes as well. The gardevoir had her arms raised, her face set in concentration, and a faint pinkish-purple shimmer emanated from her hands and trickled down to the floor, out to the sides and up a foot or two into the air. Smaller balls of ghost energy would explode across it now and again, and while the barrier would flicker, Viola responded each time with a shout of determination and the shimmer would become a white flash before the barrier reformed. All the while, arcanine blew gouts of flame at the advancing ghosts and ran from one side of the group to the other as their numbers massed and dwindled on either end.

Charles began to track Terrence with his eyes. The gengar looked worried - and tired. Worse still for the ghost, he had fallen into a pattern. Desk. Tube. Debris. Wall. Debris. Tube. Desk. Charles bent his knees and prepared to spring.  _Now._  He launched himself forward and caught the gengar mid-jump from tube to debris and knocked it to the ground. Before Terrence could phase into the floor Charles reared a fist back and punched the gengar square in the forehead, his fist coated in an aura of dark energy.

The gengar's eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back against the floor, his overlarge tongue hanging loose. To his left, Charles heard Vassal swear and saw him sweep-kick Daniel off his feet. The detective shouted in surprise and fell hard on his back. Charles saw his friend slam his fists onto the ground and scream in pained fury. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK." He saw Vassal and Karan sprint from the room, but thought better of following them alone and instead focused on keeping an eye on the gengar he'd subdued.

With trembling arms, Daniel sat up and got to his feet, hunched over and clutching at where the wound on his back was. "Fucker got away. Gods damn it all. That son of a bitch is gonna fucking pay." He turned about to the rest and barked, "We alright? Everyone alive?"

Charles waved at Daniel to get his attention amid the murmurs of assent. He pointed at the unconscious gengar on the ground. Daniel's face split into an ugly grin.

"Nice going, Charles. This fucker is gonna squeal," he huffed, pulling his pistol free from its holster and bringing it to bear. He drew his leg back and launched a kick square into the gengar's side.

Terrence groaned in pain, and his eyes flickered open with some difficulty. "What...what happened?"

"You lost and they fuckin' abandoned you. Where the fuck did they go?" replied Daniel. He locked his elbow as his trained his pistol on the ghost's forehead. "And don't go thinking you'll get the fuck out of this. I'll paint the ground with whatever the fuck is in your gods damned head in an instant and just find them the old fashioned way if I need to."

The gengar groaned. "Fine. Can I sit up?"

" **Slowly,"**  growled Charles, his arm raised, blade extended and a severe look on his face.

" **What do you want?"**  spat Terrance, training his eyes on Charles as he sat himself up and rubbed his back.

" **Understand human tongue. You speak it. Answer him."**  The bisharp pointed to Daniel and then crossed his arms.

"Ugh, what do  _you_  want then?" he asked Daniel.

"I already fucking told you. Take us to wherever the fuck it is they're going. I'm sure you know," snarled the detective. "And maybe the worst that'll happen to you tonight will be getting knocked the fuck out."

Terrence got to his feet with deliberation and rubbed his forehead. "I've got a better idea. I'll help. With everything you're trying to do, whatever it is you're trying to do. Because, honestly, I don't care what these images and sounds mean anymore." He sighed and turned to look at the door. "Follow-"

"Shade. Speak of these sounds to me." Everyone turned about and saw Ana approach the gengar and kneel down to eye level with him. "Tell me. What do you see? What do you  _feel_?" She reached out with hands faintly glowing with white energy and gripped his arms. "Speak. Speak. Speak. Speak."

The gengar's eyes closed, and he began to sway on the spot and caught himself falling over several times. He mumbled, "Fuzzy pictures. Loud static. A woman laughing. A man screaming." He paused. "I hear static. Loud static. It hurts. The images are swirling and the man looks like he's running but he's distorted. I see...I see…" His eyes tore open and he looked at Ana with an expression of terror. " _Karan._  How?"

The hexer frowned and looked at Jean. "Fruits plucked from dying trees are filled with the regrets and memories of the blood that fed them." The banette nodded and looked at Terrence with a sneer.

" **What's so funny, puppet?"**  he said, scowling.

" **Didn't your mommy and daddy tell you when you were just a little gastly that it's impolite to eat the dreams of the dying?"**  She flipped in the air and then floated over to Ana's shoulder to settle on it as the woman stood up. " **Bad dreams taste bad. Dying dreams** _ **feel**_   **bad. Fill you up with shredded regrets and futile hope. Quiet little remembrances. They swirl all around your head and then…"**  She fell backwards off of Ana's shoulder and landed flat on her back. " **Ouch. What? Why can't I phase here?"**

The gengar laughed. " **The King is less than willing to let members that don't belong to his "court" through the walls, floors and ceilings. Except for the damned dusknoir."**

Jean floated up before Terrence and gave him a wicked smile. " **At least I'm not the one plagued by dead dreams. Idiot shade."**  She pulled her zipper open slightly and blew a plume of black smoke in his face. " **So...naïve."**

Terrence blew the smoke away and said, his voice curt, " **Do you want my damn help or not? I'm offering it, and for free at this point now that I know what these weird memories mean."**  He frowned and averted their eyes, but Jean began to laugh as he did so.

" **Did you think it was something more?"**  Terrence rolled his eyes and Jean began to shriek with laughter. " **Poor little gengar."** She flew to him and stared him in the eyes, her own dancing with malice. " **Did you think you were special? Meant for more? Maybe you were the chosen among gengar! Cursed forever to hold knowledge the likes of which all the other inferior ghosts could never have!"**  The trilling of her laughter made Charles feel uneasy, and from how Terrence winced, it seemed to cut into him more than his own blades could " **Or did you- oh.** _ **Oh.**_ " She brought her hands to her mouth, shaking with girlish glee. " **You didn't. Oh but you** _ **did.**_   **You read a book. Maybe two. Stole a pokedex…"**

Terrence's eyes flashed. " **Shut. Up."**

" **He did! He did, he did, he did! He thought he might have been human once!"**  Jean's laughter shifted from girlish to wholly cruel. " **You sor-"**

Charles stepped between them, his eyes fixed on Jean's and he snapped, " **Enough. Had your say. He will help us.** _ **We**_   **will treat him as** _ **ally**_   **for it. Understood?"** He added a growl of warning for emphasis. The banette cowed and returned to Ana's shoulder.

Daniel looked between Terrence and Charles and grumbled, "So? You done shootin' the shit? You mind leading us on?" The gengar scowled and set off, not once bothering to check if they followed. Charles and the group followed, the bisharp keeping pace with the gengar to keep a close on him.

"Are we really about to just follow him? After he tried to kill us?" protested Johannes. Next to him, Viola nodded, her face shining with fear.

D'Artagnan squawked in protest as well. " _This is most unwise, Mortician. Surely you recognize that, Blade?"_  Charles gave the xatu a meaningful stare and shook his head negative once. " _Curious. I consider you a rather adept judge of character, Charles. You are certain?"_

Charles kicked at the ground and crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. " **Yes. Certain."** He sighed. " **Awful idea. Terrible idea. And best chance we have."**

Terrence rolled his eyes. "I get that none of you trust me. And don't have much reason to. Hell, I wouldn't. But if you want to know where Karan went, where Vassal went and where the King is, then you can follow me and I will take you there."

A murmur of resigned assent rippled through the party.

" **Where?"**  muttered Charles.

" **A wall. False wall. Wouldn't find it normally. Have to keep heading down, not quite to a dead end, but somewhere a little before it,"** explained the gengar, taking off down the passage once more. The walk fell into silence for a minute before the smooth, open tunnel shrank all at once into a one-person opening before them, and brought a indistinct sound out of Daniel's throat.

"What's with this fucking tunnel?" he asked in what Charles would tell was a falsely casual voice.

Terrence frowned. "Vassal dug it. It's how he found the King, or so he told me. Never was one for details on how this all came to be. Well, his own anyway. I think he was some kind of archeology freak or something? I tend to zone out when he talks."

"Archeologist turned bartender and brothel owner?" asked Daniel. Charles saw the worry behind his friend's eyes dissipate as he studied the gengar with a furrowed brow.

"Vassal is...weird. Loves the King. Too much. Found his chamber a long time ago and said he had found his calling helping him because of it. I think he was looking for this lab at first, actually, and thought there might be more further down. Fuck him," explained Terrence. "And Karan is  _nuts_."

"What exactly is her problem?" asked Daniel.

Terrence shrugged. "Bad blood? Bad past? I'm not sure. She's more than a little terrifying. She doesn't talk much about the past, but the way she acts, the prey she picks…" He shuddered and repeated, " _Touch you like it's wrong. Delicious._ " He shook his head. "Absolutely crazy. Mates with her prey and then kills them. Don't even know why, she doesn't eat them. Maybe a lick of blood now and then but that's usually part of the "fun" as she'd call it. Some of them too she..." He trailed off and rubbed his forehead. "Hours. Like she was having the time of her life. Sometimes she forgot to kill them because she wore herself out. Earned a reputation for being more than  _good._  Being the  _best._  She loved that." The gengar shook his head in wide arcs left and right, his eyes closed and his brow tightly knit.

Johannes spoke up, and Charles turned to look at the researcher. "She was-" He paused and frowned. "I've never made a study of something quite like this before, but I've read some very disturbing case studies done in Kanto of all places…" The researcher looked uncomfortable. His eyes cast down to earth and he cleared his throat. "Someone. Or some people. Some pokemon, I don't know. Some kind of force got a hold of her and, well, made the  _rouge_  look like paradise in comparison." He managed a weak, ironic smile. "Who do you blame? Her? Whoever did this to her? Cruel indifference?" His smile became bitter. "Who gets to judge?"

Daniel let out a cruel laugh. "I do. Let's keep moving."

They squeezed one by one into the tunnel and continued along in a silence that persisted until they reached a nondescript patch of wall that had Terrence call out, "Stop!" The party did so, murmurs of confusion rising from them as they did. "Need to head through here." His hand began to glow a bright red and he pressed it to the patch of wall. The dirt crumbled away and he beckoned them to follow.

The spilled out into a cavernous chamber made of ancient stonework. Terrence raised a finger and flicked a small ball of purple flame at a tall stone brazier. The violet light drove away the inky black that surrounded them and revealed a looming ceiling. Johannes looked around, his jaw slack. "Where the hell  _are_  we?"

Terrence shrugged. "Not sure. This place is ancient. The King is pretty ancient himself. Looks it anyway. So does that throne he sits on. If its even a throne, I've never been able to tell. It's coated in darkness."

A dusknoir exploded out of the brazier and reached for Daniel, who stood nearest the stone column it sat atop. " _Dawnsoul. You come to the seat of the usurper. Your final mistake. The dusk has come and gone - the infinite night stretches before you, and the Veil reclaims all."_

* * *

Daniel dove out of the way of the dusknoir and shouted, "Get the fuck back!"  _Not worth it to waste ammo right now._  He got to his feet, his knife at the ready and saw several more dusknoir phase through the walls alongside shuppet and duskull. "Where the fuck are these coming from? Is the King controlling them?"

Terrence grimaced and shouted, "No, and he's pretty unhappy about that. They show up whenever they want. They never get this close to the chamber though, something must be wrong. Is it one of you?"

Daniel slashed at a duskull with his knife, cutting it in two. He caught a dusknoir flying at him out of the corner of his eye and turned to greet it with the point of his blade. It sunk to the hilt in the dusknoir's eye and the ghost screamed in agony as angry crimson light exploded out of the gash. "I don't fucking know!" He stabbed the dusknoir in the eye again, then shifted his grip and drove his knife into its torso several times. More brilliant red light filtered through the cuts and the dusknoir's entire body began to convulse. Daniel flung himself away from it as its body fell apart into a pile of shredded cloth and smoke tinted red and purple billowed from it to the sounds of disembodied voices screaming. He turned onto his back and winced as he tweaked his injury and regarded the pile of rags on the floor before him. With a sigh, he got to his feet and turned in time to see shadow balls raining down on the others.

Viola, Jean, Charles and Terrence deflected what they could, but he saw several hit Charles square in the stomach and thighs, another catch Viola's shoulder and one more hit Jean full in the face.

The banette sank to the ground at the same speed his heart did. "Jean!"

Ana rushed forward and scooped the banette up in her arms, sobbing. The puppet stirred weakly in her arms and she glared up at the dusknoir that loomed over her, her hair whipping about and glowing a soft purple. "VANGUARD! CEASE!"

The ghosts in the room fell still and the dusknoir before her, the largest of them all, peered down at her. A low rumbling groan filled the air and it said, " _Soul of the twilight."_

The hexer's breathing was heavy and shaky. "We come to right the wrongs of the usurper. On wings of calamity." She glared up at the dusknoir, her eyes streaming. "The Vanguard of Ichor do not interfere with those who would visit calamity upon those with ruinous intent. It is your code."

Daniel stepped towards Ana and she turned instantly to face him and screamed, "STOP." He froze, his leg outstretched in mid-step and brought it back with a small nod. She turned to the dusknoir again. "Allow us safe passage. We are not agents of the usurper."

The ghost considered her for a moment, then its single red eye traced from her face to the gengar. " _And yet here stands his accessory."_

Ana held her hand out, her wrist presented to the dusknoir. "I swear it on my essence. Bind my oath to the blood of the dawn and ichor of the dusk."

The dusknoir's eye trained itself on Ana again. A long silence stretched out and then it chuckled. " _Soul of the twilight. Your oath is heard. By your blood and ichor are you bound. Destroy the usurper or through the Veil you are claimed."_  The ghost placed its enormous hand beneath Ana's.

The hexer slashed a fingernail across her wrist and grit her teeth in pain. Thick drops of red blood fell into its hand alongside thicker still globs of a curious purple and black liquid that shone in the faint light of the chamber. They evaporated into streams of ruby and ebony smoke and rose into the air between the two. With a soft puff, the dusknoir blew the smoke at Ana, where it swirled around her and faded.

" _We depart. And await the soul of the usurper. Or the twilight."_  The dusknoir raised its arms and sank through the floor, with the rest of the dusknoir, shuppet and duskull present following suit.

Daniel rushed to Ana and helped her to her feet, digging through his jacket for a potion to spray on Jean all the while. "Are you alright Ana? What's going on? What the fuck did you do?"

"Bottled safety. An oath to upend a bottle of it upon our heads and allow us passage to the throne of the usurper." She brought her hand to Daniel's face and looked him in the eyes with concern. "At the price of damnation. Perhaps. Should we fail." She took the potion from Daniel the moment she saw him tug it free from his jacket and sprayed it on Jean's face. The banette's stirrings became stronger and with a groan that echoed a hundred times over and carried muffled shrieks, the pokemon came to and floated out of her hands and onto her shoulder.

Charles mumbled something and Jean replied with a single, curt sentence.

"Charles, you alright? Need anythin'?" asked Daniel, concerned. The bisharp smirked and patted his stomach twice and then rapped his knuckles against his head once. "Tougher than a few shadow balls by now, eh?"

Terrence pulled ahead of them all and beckoned. "This way. Not far now."

"Hold on, hold on," called out Johannes, spraying Viola's shoulder with a potion bottle as he did. "Alright, that ought to be good enough. Nice work Viola, good thing that shopkeep gave us such a dead useful TM." Viola nodded, her face nevertheless lined with worry.

"I'll be fine. I swear. I'm keeping my head down," Johannes replied to a voice unheard.

From behind him, Ricard strode up to Daniel, stomping especially hard to warn him of his approach, and signed, "D'Artagnan has done his best to keep me informed. If the chamber of the King is fast approaching us, we should be prepared."

Daniel nodded. "And we are." He pulled his pistol from its holster. "I've got twenty different plans to deal with this bastard and his two remaining cronies." He shook the pistol. "Primed and ready."

The deaf-mute frowned. "Our approach was reckless from the start, Daniel, but you have not done much to mitigate that."

"Well, what do you want from me?" he signed back. "I'm doing the best I can with what I've got, and in case you haven't noticed, what I've got is a living knife, a loaded gun and someone who's so close to the brink I wouldn't be surprised if just walking into his throne room would tip her over."

"The best you can manage is charging blindly?"

Daniel put his hand to his friend's shoulder and gave him a self-deprecating smile before letting go to sign, "You give me way too much credit, Ricard. I plan for steps one and two and make up three through infinity. And we are  _way_  past step two."

The accountant closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow. He unholstered his own pistol and pointed past the gengar, then raised his hand and signed, "Ok."

* * *

Pierre pulled the charging handle partially back on his submachine gun several times before pulling it completely back and locking it. He and his three compatriots sat in an ITS truck, jostling gently in their seats as they crept towards the  _Diggersby._  He sighed into his gas mask and silently cursed Ricard's name.  _This had better be worth it._  He pulled the mask up to give his face time to breathe, and then felt someone nudge him.

"Pierre, you trust this Ricard fellow completely?" It was Lothaire, his bright blue eyes contrasting sharply against the black tactical gear he wore. His voice was muffled.

With a chuckle, he replied, "Mostly. I wouldn't write off a tip he's this insistent about. Besides, I couldn't rob Fabien of a perfectly good opportunity to blow some shit up. Isn't that right, you brute?"

Fabien seemed to be bulging out of his gear around his biceps and chest. He flipped the bird to Pierre and chuckled in response before returning to his inspection of his shotgun. Next to him, Paul sat up and leaned forward, towards Pierre. "How did you get this mission approved? We're not exactly out of practice - but you are, and you're off leading the team? Well, I have to wonder just how much  _balle_  you had to fork over to do this."

With a loud, sharp laugh, Pierre waved off the comment. "Rusty or not, I can still run a shitty little op like this, Paul. It's a simple enough run, and you were only considered because we need someone to bring up the rear. And you were always so good with keeping an eye on the men's  _backs_."

"Yeah, yeah,  _va te faire foutre_ ," replied Paul immediately, smiling himself and sitting back.

A voice from the front of the van called back, " _Une minute!_ "

"Alright, everyone listen up. You've already been briefed, but let me just go ahead and reiterate: load lethal, we're just there to demo a wall and deal with what's behind it. I'll have less-lethal ready in case we find something we don't want dead. All of the  _Diggersby_  is still under lock and key as the investigation proceeds, so let's try not to step on any toes. They've received word in advance that we'll be investigating something in the manager's office, so it shouldn't be a problem." He looked around the three men as they loaded and cocked their weapons, and after a ten second silence, nodded and added, "Arlight. Get ready." He pulled a bright blue magazine free from his harness and loaded it into his gun, then slapped the charging handle down to send it home.

* * *

Terrence pointed to the arched passageway before the group - one that was far too narrow for Daniel's taste compared to how cavernous the previous room had been. "Through there. Soon as you exit this hallway, you'll be in the main chamber. It's soaked through with ghost energy too, so I'd be careful. You especially," he explained, pointing to d'Artagnan. He led the way, with Daniel following closely behind.

He pulled the slide back on his pistol far enough until his eyes found the glint of a loaded round. He was ready. So were the walls. He felt them squeeze around him, his heart begin to race, and the smell of rot and fetid water catch in his nostrils. He flew back into the sewers - they felt like ages ago. The pedestal and the heart. The pulsing walls and glowing rune upon the floor. He picked up speed, overtaking Terrence in a jog. The walls pulsed again. He turned back and shouted, "RUN!"

The entire entourage lurched forward, desperate to keep up with Daniel, who now was opening a gap before them as he shifted into a full sprint. "What the hell are you doing, Daniel!?" shouted Johannes, huffing beside Viola. "Stop! Stop!"

A long, angry and partly panic-struck yell rose from Daniel's throat, and he leaned into his sprint further until the walls let go of him and he found himself in a dimly lit, massive chamber that featured a huge mass of swirling black in the center. He saw Vassal clutching an armful of glowing cloths and Karan beside him, tendrils of purple energy swirling around her, and occasionally pressing against her body and forcing their way in through the skin without leaving marks. He did not stop, and launched himself at Vassal, tackling him to the floor, knocking the cloths out of his hands and sending them scattering into the air.

Daniel sat upon Vassal's stomach and aimed his pistol wildly at Karan while the man below him was still dazed. He fired and heard a loud shriek as the weavile spun away from him, clutching her shoulder. He tugged his knife free from the small of his back and drove it down towards Vassal's throat, but the man caught his hand and snarled, "You won't be rid of us that easily!" Daniel holstered his pistol and tried to force the dagger down with both hands.

"I'm tired of this ghost shit and I'm fucking tired of stumbling around these fucking tiny tunnels. Do me a fucking favor and-" A black tendril exploded from the mass in the center of the room near him and struck him across the face, sending him flying back away from Vassal and skidding across the cracked stone floor. He struggled to his feet, cursing the insistent pain in his back and his now labored breathing.  _Already fucking winded._  Tendrils rising from the mass blocked his view of Vassal.

He caught the others rushing into the room - Charles immediately met Karan's screaming pounce with crossed arms and extended blades, and the two dove off from the others, rolling about, trading blows and scratches. Terrence chased after them, contributing what he could in the form of waves of purple pulses of energy and volleys of shadow balls.

A voice boomed in the air, sending Ana scrambling to the edge of the chamber, clutching her head and screaming in pain. " _FAILURES. YOU HAVE FAILED ME. WHORE. VASSAL. AND TRAITOROUS PEASANT."_  Jean followed close behind, and upon noticing them rushing away, Johannes, Viola and d'Artagnan joined the hexer and ghost. Ricard, meanwhile took aim at the mass in the center of the room and fired.

A shield burst from the black mass, coated in black tendrils, and the bullet ricocheted off with a loud  _twang_. "I am the reckoning of an age long past, you foolish creatures. And my ascension nears its completion. Bow before Agilrad, your King. I have razed  _nations_ across this pitiful plane, and watched the fires of a hundred burning castles from mountaintops in lands you could never conceive of." A purple light came to life in the roiling black mass and illuminating shafts of violet began to explode out, reaching out to the four torches dancing with red flame that ringed the room.

The scattered cloths upon the floor began to glow and rise, and the air filled with the rushing sounds of whispers and muffled shrieks of the damned. Daniel felt his stomach churn as the cloths turned into an endless sea of shuppets and duskull. "For fuck's sake," he muttered, "How the fuck…" He heard a loud, droning chant rise in the air, and he turned to see Ana sitting in the center of a ring of candles, her eyes locked on Agilrad, unblinking. Floating above her was Jean, her mouth open, letting loose a steady stream of smoke. Viola, Johannes and d'Artagnan stepped within the circle of candles, and he saw the shimmer of a light screen come to life in the dim chamber.

Ana stopped droning long enough to point to Jean and shout at Johannes, "Remove as many tags as you can find and place them in a large circle around us. Replace them all as soon as they burn up and when you begin to run out, remove more from Jean. Do you  **understand**?"

Johannes cocked his head at the last word. "What?" Viola tugged on his shirt and he looked at her for a moment before adding, "Got it!" Jean turned to face him and he rummaged about in her insides for a moment before pulling out a large, balled-up stack of tags.

A voice came to life in Daniel's head. " _Mortician. The time is upon us. I am of precious little use save my ability to inform you of that which you cannot see. The Blade fights valiantly, but I fear this excess of ghosts will overwhelm him. The shade that fights alongside him has neither the energy nor the heart for the fight he assists him in. And this is to say nothing of the the Merchant. Please, make haste, and remove the threat Vassal poses to us all as swiftly as you can."_

"Help Ricard out," he mumbled, tossing arcanine's pokeball out towards the accountant. He turned in time to see the shuppets and duskull finish coalescing, and raised his knife, his teeth grit. A loud howl rose in the air to his left, and the ghosts began to swarm around, launching balls and tiny embers of purple light at Daniel. Through the flurry, he saw the tendrils cease to block Vassal from view, and he caught the man rushing at him, dagger raised.

Daniel rushed to meet him, snarling, and dodged left and right, spinning around massed clumps of ghost energy and deflecting slow-moving, ghostly embers. He slashed out at the shuppet and duskull now and again, sending their tattered remains drifting to the floor.  _They'll be back. No way they won't be._  He sidestepped a slash from Vassal, and with a single flick slashed open his arm and cauterized the wound at the same time.

Vassal screamed in pain and swung at Daniel. He managed to deflect the first, second and third swing, but as the fourth came from below up towards stomach, he also caught from a flash of purple in the corner of his eye. He turned away from the ball but felt it smash into his back and burn his soul.  _Not fast enough_. Vassal's knife grazed against his stomach and slashed apart some of the fabric of his jacket and shirt. He heard the sound of something dripping to the ground and his eyes widened.  _There goes a potion bottle._

He aimed a kick square at Vassal's stomach and knocked him away, and dove backwards himself immediately after. He groaned as his back and lung protested, and staggered to his feet, glancing over to Ricard to check on him. Arcanine was burning down wave after wave of ghosts with relative ease, and Ricard, who had brought far more ammunition with him than Daniel had, continued to fire at any ghost that managed to dodge the flames. He turned and fired several rounds at the black mass in the center of the room - more loud  _clangs_  rang out and a booming voice shouted, " _Enough!"_  A figure separated itself from the mass, ringed in red light, and four brilliant tendrils exploded out of the crimson fire of the torches and affixed themselves to the figure. It was the shape of a man, and the shining metal of an aegislash's blade shot out of the right arm, while a glinting aegislash's shield slid out of the left.

"What the fuck is that?" shouted Daniel. He looked from the figure back to Ana and the others and saw explosions of purple explode against a wall of light, or on seemingly nothing as a tag upon the ground burnt up in a brilliant blue flame.

He spun his head back around to focus on Vassal, who got to his feet and called to him, "That is  _my King._ "

" _Mortician, I have been keeping my eye on the fight. The Merchant is faring well enough, but your Blade is fighting against the tide itself. His assaults leave no permanent mark upon that weavile - her tears open her body with angry gashes, only for them close in an instant, and a few punches that should have fractured skulls are met only with a moment's pause as she gathers mind and body into one entity again. The shade has taken to hiding behind a pile of rubble, fearing death."_ D'Artagnan's voice was steeped in worry as it rang in Daniel's head. " _Worse still, I fear the supply of tags is beginning to dwindle. The Errant is having a progressively more difficult time finding tags to lay out. The assault from the spirits around us is unending."_

Daniel met Vassal's charge with another roar and deflected his blade. The man's strikes were more vicious now, and the fatigue in his limbs and the pain in his back were beginning to take their toll. Deflecting the attacks was becoming a labor, not a reaction. His arms met the blade with weaker deflections and parries, and several cuts tore across the fabric of his jacket and anti-stab vest.

Vassal roared and managed to thrust his dagger into Daniel's stomach, the detective's attempt at parrying missing completely this time. However, Vassal's blade caught just a few centimeters into the material of the vest, and with a grunt of frustration, he tugged his blade free and punched Daniel across the face, sending the man stumbling back.

Daniel focused on Vassal, but caught sight of the King as he stomped up to arcanine and swung his sword in an overhead arc down on the dog. He jumped to the side, though the shockwave sent him flying much further away, towards Ana and the rest of the group. With a whine, the pokemon got to its feet. Ricard fired several times at the mass and dodged another sword swing, but as he stood the shield came around and a sickening crack rang out.

"RICARD!" Daniel met Vassal's next strike with a strong parry and slashed the man across the chest, leaving in the wake of the dagger an angry slash of cauterized blood and burnt flesh. He kicked Vassal away as the man recoiled and screamed in pain, and sprinted towards his friend. He saw Ricard skid across the ground and landing in a heap next to arcanine. With a breathy groan, the accountant got to his feet, and Daniel met him to assist. "You alright? Holy shit, that's alotta blood."

Ricard signed, "Nose is broken. Can't talk much. D'Artagnan can fill me in." He fired at several shuppet and then dumped the magazine to insert a fresh one. He gestured for Daniel to get back in the fight and aimed at the King, who had turned his attention towards Charles and Karan's fight. Daniel set off immediately after the king, determined to help support the bisharp, slashing apart several ghosts as he did so. He remembered halfway to the fight that he'd completely forgotten about Vassal. He shouted back, "D'Artagnan! Update!"

" _The Merchant has apprehended Vassal, in a manner of speaking. Though he remains some distance away, the threat of gunfire is enough to keep him at bay. For now. Make haste. We are out of tags."_

"Fuck fuck fuck." He pulled his pistol free and fired thrice at the King, each bullet striking the vaguely humanoid figure wielding the aegislash in the back and tearing holes the size of grapefruits into it. An acrid smell filled the air, and the wounds emitted a red-tinted haze.

Agilrad turned around and fixed his attention of Daniel. He was hideous - some terrible mixture of rotting man, glistening aegislash and snaking midnight tendrils. In what little light the crimson torches afforded him, he could see three glowing eyes of violet set in a distorted human skull. Blackened, rotting skin sagged from the horror's face, sloughing off and regrowing as little tendrils from the skin that remained. The holes in his body began to close in a similar fashion, with tendrils of pure black lacing together into a matrix of fibers at an alarming rate. "Feeble tricks befitting a court jester. If that." With a snarl that echoed through the entire chamber he swung his blade at Daniel. Though he missed, the shockwave from the blad colliding with the ground threw off the detective's balance, and the King brought his sword back in a wide arc again.

Daniel avoided this as well, but a terrible, blinding pain erupted in his midsection. The king caught Daniel on his back foot and slammed his shield into the detective's stomach, flinging him against the nearby wall. He felt the wound in his lung and back reopen, and he crumpled to the ground, dazed.

* * *

Charles caught Karan's wrist and slammed her behind him, dragging the cat in a wide overhead arc and bringing her head crashing straight into the ground. Tendrils of purple exploded from the ground and swirled around her head and a moment later her free hand lashed out at him. The bisharp released her arm and backflipped away. With a growl, he readied himself for her to pounce again. When she did, he met the attack with the pointed end of the blade jutting from his forearm. He heard it dig into her shoulder and the weavile shrieked in pain.

She grit her teeth, slashed him across his face and kicked off his body. Charles wiped the blood streaming from the cuts away and huffed. He was covered in scratches and several punctures, but the wound upon Karan's shoulder closed up as the others had with the help of the black tendrils.

She'd taken enough punishment to die several times over, and yet she hadn't so much as lost consciousness. He grit his teeth and went on the offensive, ducking and diving away from a flurry of icicles she launched at him from thin air and slammed his fist into the pit of her stomach. He heard a wet hack and the crack of her spine shattering. With a roar of exasperation and fury, he pulled his fist back and caught her full in the face with another punch square to the nose, to the sound of another crack. She went flying away from him and crashed into the rubble that Terrence hid behind.

" **Stay down. Don't want to keep killing you,"**  he called to her, panting. " **Would appreciate** _ **any**_   **help, Terrence."**  The gengar did not respond. Charles growled as the weavile stirred and the bloody mess of her face fixed itself as the tendrils dug their way into her body and seeped into gashes and tears his punch had created.

A blinding plain erupted across Charles' face and he went flying into the wall at his side, cracking a considerable number of stones and becoming partially lodged in it. He tugged himself out in time for a sword to stab into the stonework, crushing and destroying several stones and bring forth a rain of rubble which Charles was only barely able to dodge. His eyes caught the glint of Agilrad's sword cutting through the air directly at him, and with stiffened, gleaming gauntlets, he managed to deflect the attack. The force from the attack wound its way up his arms and made his bones ache.  _Can't do that much more._

He sprinted at Agilrad and slashed again and again at his torso, dodging out of the way of a shield slam and an overhead smash from the sword as he approached, and finishing his assault with a blinding fast punch to center of the King's stomach. His hand tore completely through the thin flesh of the abomination's torso. He yanked it back out while grabbing at anything he could possibly tear to deal more damage, but found nothing.

Charles caught Agilrad's knee as it came up to greet him, but the force sent him flying up into the air at an odd angle. He righted himself in midair and caught Daniel's crumpled form and the onslaught of ghosts still bearing down upon the others for an instant before he turned his attention back to the King and Karan, who had stood and was tracing Charles' descent through the air. She ran out to meet him and pounced him in mid-air, knocking him back and sending them both tumbling away.

Charles punched Karan repeatedly in the face, the last signs of his previous assault now faded from her nose and forehead, and with another crack felt her cheekbones shatter against his fist. The weavile slumped off him, clutching her face and growling. He kicked straight at her midsection, but she caught it with one hand, then bought the other away from her face and drove her claws into his thigh. With a scream of pain, he brought his fist down atop her head and felt her skull crack beneath his fist. His hand pressed a sizable indentation into her head. She released him, falling face down onto the ground, where she at last laid still. The tendrils began to snake their way into the wound, repairing brain tissue, skin and skull alike.  _Don't have long._

He spun around in time see Agilrad swing his sword straight down at him, and with a wince of pain, Charles dove out of the way. He limped as fast as his leg could carry him, making directly to Daniel, swatting and slashing away the shuppet and duskull as they dove at him. Those he could not strike down, he endured. He turned and found the King was strolling towards him at a slow pace - whether it was his strange, imperfectly human body that impaired his movement or confidence that his stride did not need to be quick, Charles did not know. He caught a glimpse of Terrence crouched behind the rubble he'd launched Karan at before and snarled, " **Useless, traitorous** _ **coward!"**_

He made it to his friend and knelt down to shake him, grunting insistently. He patted his hand against Daniel's cheek several times and then the man stirred. With a sigh of relief, Charles shook his shoulder with greater insistence, and then Daniel coughed, spraying his chest and pants with blood. He grabbed hold of Daniel and limped towards the others, dragging Daniel alongside him as fast as his injured leg allowed. " **Daniel needs help immediately,"**  he called to Viola and d'Artagnan.

" _D'Artagnan? I'm holding this barrier steady. Could you and Johannes treat Daniel?"_  replied Viola.

Charles looked over at the others. Viola, now in her mega-evolved form, was indeed holding a barrier steady, her arms outstretched. Ana worked beneath her, drawing up new tags from a stack of papers she had undoubtedly pulled from inside of Jean. d'Artagnan took a lighter from Daniel telekinetically and began to relight candles that were extinguishing in a peculiar rhythm around Ana. Free from the tedious task, Johannes dug around in the backpack he had with him and removed two potion bottles and a small vial of smelling salts.

He handed one bottle to Charles and motioned to his leg. The other bottle was smaller and marked with the silhouette of a man. Instead of a spray nozzle, it had a cap that protected a needle and a trigger-like plunger. A red sticker covered in symbols that reminded Charles of warning signs Daniel pointed out to him kept the cap from falling off. He watched as Johannes opened the tiny vial of smelling salts and waved it under Daniel's nose.

The detective came to a second later, his face screwed up at the stench, and he let out a wet cough. "The fuck is that smell?" he rasped. Johannes uncapped the smaller potion-like bottle and stuck the needle into Daniel's neck and depressed the plunger. "Ow, fuck!"

"Cocktail of mild stimulants and mild amphetamine-based analgesics. Dangerous as all hell to use more than one in a twenty-four hour period, but it'll dull the pain a little bit," explained Johannes at top speed.

"Who said I needed  _speed_? And who made you the pharmacist?" grumbled Daniel.

"The blood on your shirt and pants, along with the fact that you were knocked out did it."

"Surprised Ana didn't drop her chanting," noted Daniel struggling to his feet.

"She's been hyper-focused this whole time. I think she forgot we exist," reasoned Johannes.

Charles tapped Daniel insistently on the shoulder and pointed at the approaching monstrosity. He gave Daniel a grim nod, his eyes burning with intent, and ran out to face the King. Behind him, he heard Daniel's heavy footfalls as he followed, all the while shouting, "Keep that shit up Jo, we'll get this over with as fast as we can."

* * *

Pierre felt Lothaire tap his shoulder, and so he tapped Fabien on the shoulder in turn. The four made their way down the stairs, their guns at the ready and fanned out into the cramped office. Paul groaned, "Seemed a tad bit unnecessary to sweep and clear a room we know the men already had under lock and key."

Pierre kept his submachine gun aimed at the bookshelf that Ricard had told him of and shrugged, replying, "Yes, but I love to hear you bitch at me, Paul. Get that shelf moved."

Fabien stowed his shotgun and dragged the shelf aside, revealing a glowing symbol that Pierre did not recognize. "Looks a bit like the things the  _rois_  of old had, no?" asked Lothaire, his tone interested, if unsure.

"Whatever it is, the target is behind it. Get the C4 set up Fabien," instructed Pierre. "You confirmed the payload size wouldn't fuck us here, right?" He gestured to the ceiling for emphasis.

"Should be fine," came the reply. Fabien taped an octagon of breaching charges around the symbol and drew the line out the room, up the stairs and into the hallway. The rest followed closely in his wake. Once stacked up outside, he counted down from three on his finger and aloud. "Three. Two. One." A loud bang carried up the stairs and the sound of drywall spraying across the ground and furniture in the room followed.

"Clear it!" shouted Pierre. The four moved into the room yet again, and found the wall destroyed. Much of the furniture in the room knocked aside, over, or apart. A curious red light shone out of the newly created hole. The four men approached the hole, their guns at the ready, and were met with the sight of a partially shriveled, blackened human heart floating atop a marble pedestal, emitting a crimson glow. The alcove it sat in was just large enough to contain the pillar and the heart, and nothing else.

Pierre heard Lothaire gag next to him, and Paul to his right whispered, " _Merde._ "

His own stomach uneasy, Pierre tapped Fabien on the shoulder and muttered, "Destroy that fucking thing."

Fabien aimed his shotgun at the heart and replied in a grave tone, " _D'aise."_  The boom of the gun rang out in the room, and the heart blew apart, killing the light instantly and splattering the walls and some of the floor before it with blackened, wet chunks of muscle.

Lothaire turned away and retched while Pierre patted Fabien on the back, numb. "Excellent work. Fabien, I want that pedestal in a million pieces." He grunted in affirmation and moved to set a block of c4 to the fixture.

Pierre strode away from the group and pulled his cell phone free from his pocket and dialed Ricard. No one answered.

* * *

Agilrad roared in pain as one of the crimson-burning torches in the chamber sputtered, and the tether that sprung from it to his body shattered. The roiling mass of black tendrils seized and flexed, and a section of his back exploded into a brilliant beam of crimson light that faded away, leaving nothing but a singed and smoking hole that tore far enough through his torso to create a small opening in his stomach. Red-tinted smoke rose from this opening, and the haze obscured the glowing purple eyes of the undead creature. With a roar of fury that shook the pebbles upon the ground and reverberated through gods-knew-how-many chambers this deep in the earth, the King shifted his gaze from Charles, to Daniel, to the others behind them, and then settled on-

Daniel's eyes widened. "No! NO, FUCK YOU," he screamed, rushing out to stand between Ana and the abomination's gaze. He raised his pistol and emptied his magazine at the aegislash, seemingly to no avail. The holes that punched through his torso, arms and legs began to close, and the figure flinched only slightly.

"A source," boomed Agilrad. He held a hand out towards Ana, his hand partially clenched into a fist. The squirming black mass that approximated fingers began to glow a bright red. "The King demands tribute." Daniel watched as he clenched his hand into a fist and then turned to see the ground under Ana explode into a column of purple light. The hexer clutched her head, screaming, and fell to her side, thrashing and sobbing, her entire body glowing a faint red. Next to her, Viola's gait faltered, and she slouched, her face twisted into an expression that blended fatigue and fear. Johannes shook Ana insistently, shouting at her over the din of bursting shadow balls and pulses of ghost energy around them.

Jean abandoned her perimeter defense and flew to Ana, shaking her alongside Johannes, her own shrieks and cries of worry and fear meshing with the sounds ringing in Daniel's ears, leaving him further unsettled. He reloaded his pistol and shouted at arcanine, "Keep them safe!" The dog responded with a weak howl of affirmation - Daniel could see his heavy panting, sagging posture and the weakening blasts of fire he breathed out. Ricard did the best he could to avoid the increasing number of volleys and dive bombs the ghosts swarming around them were launching as more began to slip past the arcanine's assault.

_Why the fuck aren't you behind the light screen, Ricard? You crazy, selfless bastard._  Daniel turned and saw King bring an underhand swing up into Charles' guard, knocking him through the air and off behind him, nearer the group. He turned and made his way to Charles to help the bisharp up, but the pokemon instead kipped-up with a snarl and sprinted to meet Agilrad as he advanced. The bisharp dove out of the way of an overhead smash and punched the creature in its knee - a wet crack rang out and the leg buckled beneath the creature. An earsplitting roar of pain filled in the chamber and the tendrils began to repair the knee, popping it back into place with another sickening crunch. With a furious backhand, Agilrad slammed his shield into Charles' shocked face full force and sent the bisharp flying back into the wall.

The bisharp struggled to its feet, panting, and Daniel took a large potion from his jacket - the strongest dose, and after Vassal's attack, the  _only_  one he brought, and threw it at Charles. His friend caught it and sprayed it immediately on his face and body as the King's leg continued to reform. Daniel's attention, however, turned to Ricard's attempts to dodge attacks from the ghosts swarming around him and arcanine, and he set off toward the two, wheezing. He shouted back to Charles, "Keep fuckin' dodging and don't take chances!"

A shuppet struck Ricard in the back of his knee and knocked him flat on his back - Vassal instantly rushed towards Ricard, taking full advantage of the accountant's inability to properly draw a bead on him. Daniel intercepted the man with a knife thrust that Vassal parried, though only just. With a snarl, he turned his attention to the detective and slashed at him. His freshly reopened lung made keeping up with the swift strikes a laborious process, and Daniel's wheezing became insistent coughing, filling his mouth with the taste of copper. He lashed out at Vassal, cutting him across his stomach and crossing behind him, but the man met the strike with one of his own, whipping around and slicing through Daniel's arm.

Over Vassal's shoulder he saw Viola's body shine for a moment and then she crumpled, her mega-evolution now elapsed. "Viola!" cried Johannes, rushing to her as shadow balls struck the ground around him. "Daniel!" he shouted, looking up at the detective, "We're overwhel-" He heard a hack like a word caught in a punch to the gut as a shuppet flew straight at Johannes, hitting him in the stomach and exploding through his body and out his back. Motes of blue, green and purple light sparkled of the shuppet, and Johannes fell over Viola's body. Daniel saw no wound upon his back - the attack was ethereal.

"Johannes!" yelled Daniel, "FUCK!" He parried an attack from Vassal that came at him from below and deflected it, but fell off balance as a fit of coughing consumed him. He stole a glance at arcanine, who breathed a tremendous, sweeping arc of fire at the attacking ghosts - many of the ones that fell in the wake of the flames did not reform, and those that did were noticeably struggling to do so. Then, Arcanine tipped over and laid still.  _Fuck, he's completely spent. The King's getting there too th- FUCK._ He turned his head towards Vassal as he caught the flash of his knife. Off balance and hunched over, he could only swing his arm out in an effort to grab Vassal's arm with his left hand.

A blinding pain coursed through Daniel's left arm as Vassal's knife punched clean through his forearm, spraying blood from the fresh wound. The man gave Daniel a manic grin and twisted the blade in his hands, bringing Daniel's arm up and Daniel with it as he screamed in pain. Behind Vassal he saw Terrence rise into the air and gather a ball of shadow energy in his hand. The detective managed a pained grin and chuckled between coughs. "Got you- no." The smile on his face dissipated as he saw Terrence aim the ball at  _him_. He punched Vassal in the face, still ostensibly reeling from Daniel's sudden laughter. The man stumbled back, ripping the knife out from his forearm as he did,earning another scream of pain from Daniel that transformed into: "YOU FILTHY DOUBLE-CROSSING CU-"

A shot rang out that sent Terrence flipping through the air, screaming with rage. He caught himself and rounded on the source of the gunfire - Ricard held his pistol up at the gengar, his face set into a grimace, shining with sweat, and his free hand clutching his knee. He mouthed a single, silent word at Terrence, " _Lâche."_  The pokemon dissolved the ball of ghost energy and instead snapped his fingers, creating a flickering mote of curious, purple fire. With a forceful, rage-fueled overhand pitch, it shot from his hand and caught Ricard in the chest.

The fire sprouted from the point of impact across his chest, and the accountant's expression became bemused. The flames crept up, along his arms, up to his neck and down to his groin. He dropped his pistol and began to pat himself out, appearing bizarrely unhurried as he did so. Each pat spread the flames out further, coating his hands and sending sparks up to strike his face where they too began to spread. Skin began to crisp and his clothing began to blacken and crumble away. Ricard began to pat with greater insistence and a strangled, raspy scream fought to claw its way from his throat. His entire body burned with a violet fire and his movements slowed. The raspy scream stopped and with a look of sad resignation he turned his head towards d'Artagnan, who stared on, unblinking and he turned and raised his hand towards the xatu. With two short strokes, he waved him a silent goodbye.

His arm fell limp and the violet fire soared.

"RICAAARD!" bellowed Daniel. He caught Vassal swinging at him again with a knife and parried it, his arm burning as intensely as his eyes. Off to his right he saw Charles' glance at the man's flaming corpse and scream in rage, then dodge another strike from Agilrad and cut a deep gash into the monster's shield arm. It did not show signs of reforming, and if it was, it had slowed down significantly.

He kicked Vassal away and caught a flash of bright pinkish-purple from the corner of his eyes. It was d'Artagnan. An echoing, sorrowful voice boomed in Daniel's head:

_Feeble minds snared by ill winds old_

_Torches burn hearts on points of rose_

_Merchant, Mystic, and in their fold_

_Mortician and the Blade he chose_

He saw the xatu rise into the air, the eyes upon his chest shining, and his gaze locked on Daniel. From head to talon, d'Artagnan's body radiated an almost blinding fuschia light. Something in the corner of his mind tugged his arm, deflected a blade and then thrust forward. Daniel raised his arm, parried a strike from Vassal with precision and then stabbed his knife into his arm, but only glanced it-

He saw himself step to the side, bring a knee up to Vassal's stomach and then raise his knife to deflect a shadow ball. He felt like something was defogging his brain, revealing a small television that played…  _The future._ His jaw fell open.  _D'Artagnan, how are you-_  He stepped to the side, avoiding a strike from Vassal and a ball of black flame from Terrence, brought his knee up into Vassal's stomach and then brought his knife up to meet the shadow ball. This time, instead of deflecting it off into the ceiling, he angled his knife and it flew back at Terrence. The gengar, unsteady and bearing an expression of noticeable fatigue as the now familiar black and purple spirals of smoke poured from his arm, rolled heavily out of the way. He stood up, panting and raised his arm, collecting energy for another attack, but the lights gathering in his palm flickered and died.

_These four heroes will need to fight_

_Threat to many worlds long thought lost_

_Cracked now, seals of an ancient rite_

_Resurrecting the King Who Crossed_

He'd heard this before. Back when d'Artagnan started referring to them all with their strange titles. The original prophecy before they started receiving cryptic fragments. He deflected strike after strike from Vassal, each parry met with a quick slash of his own. The man's face turned from anger to worry in his head, and then in front of him. He heard two roars, one after the other, saw two offhand punches to the gut, a roundhouse kick and an overhead -

He stared Vassal in the eyes as he caught the punch with a downward thrust of his knife, stabbing through Vassal's arm to the sweet sound of his screams, and met his kick with a stiff knee. No overhead would come. He moved his hand automatically to catch Vassal's wild thrust with his free arm, then tugged his knife free and stabbed through Vassal's other forearm. He heard the man's knife clang to the ground. "Almost even," muttered Daniel, still looking the man in the eyes. He pulled his knife free and stabbed it through the side of his neck to the sound of a wet gasp and then a strangled cough.

He saw Terrence stir in his head, try to ready an attack, and his hand let go of the knife to make for his pis-

Daniel tugged his pistol free, shoved Vassal down to his knees and aimed at Terrence. He fired thrice, striking the gengar in his left leg, his stomach and above his eye. The holes glowed with a brilliant orange flame as the bullets worked their charcoal-kissed magic and Terrence fell back, the wounds billowing an acrid-smelling black smoke and the same, ghostly spirals of purple. The tendrils that repaired Agilrad did not come for Terrence.

Daniel brought his pistol back, ignoring the television in his head and put the barrel to the center of Vassal's forehead. "Now we're even." He fired. The back of Vassal's head exploded, spraying scorched bits of brain, skulls, skin and hair several feet out behind the man. Daniel tugged his knife free and turned away from Vassal and made his way towards the King. The xatu's words came alive in his head again - these were entirely new to him:

_As the King's ensnared servants fall_

_Heroes' wounds mount and take their toll_

He saw a flash of blue and a whirl of frozen claws on the screen in his head. Daniel dove aside and shouted in pain as his injuries screamed in protest, then stood, still coughing and spraying the ground with blood. He stared down Karan and saw himself dive to the right-

He dove away from Karan and landed on his side. He rose to his feet, ignoring the biting wounds in his back and forearm and raised his pistol at the weavile.  _Fuck._  She began to sprint at him, darting left and right as she closed the gap. He saw himself fire at the last possible second.

_Dance of edges that flash and maul_

_Counsel fighting for this realm's soul_

The words were nearly drowned out by Karan as she screamed and crashed past him, flipping end over end as the bullet that struck her knee knocked her off her feet. She came to a stop in a crumpled heap near Vassal's corpse and did not stir. He checked his gun - the slide was locked back.  _Empty._ He holstered his pistol brought his knife to the ready again and joined Charles. He tugged another knife from his boot free and chucked it at the king, where it dug into his left arm.

Agilrad screamed and turned from the panting, slouching bisharp and thrust his sword out at Daniel. With shout of anger, he sidestepped the thrust and brought his knife down on the flat of the blade. A cloud of purple spirals and black smoke rose from it and left a scorch mark. The King swung again at him, and this time Daniel dove away and struggled to his feet. The images on the screen in his head were beginning to become blurred. The King had become sluggish. Whatever he'd done to Ana had worn off, and it showed. Daniel noticed dozens of scraps of cloth on the ground, some feebly stirring and forming what appeared to be a shuppet before falling limply back to the ground. The words that came from d'Artagnan were weak now, registering in his head as hardly whispers:

_Struggle's end comes as time and tide_

_Rogue spirits no longer accost_

Charles let out a bellow of fury and jumped at Agilrad, slashing him across the face with blades coated in darkness. He slid under the King and slashed at his back, each strike earning him more yells of pain and anger. As the abomination began to turn about to face Charles, Daniel stepped forward and stabbed into the creature's shield arm several times. Each thrust was punctuated with a hiss and the blackened skin and midnight tendrils tore away and began to sag, their vigor fading. Daniel launched himself at the king, both hands gripping his knife and driving it into where the clavicle would normally be on any ordinary man. His weight pulled the knife down, tearing open the King's torso. As Daniel fell to the ground, he saw the king prepare another slow overhead slash, and so he rolled away from the sluggish strike. The blade struck the ground and cracked the stone it collided with into pieces.

The King seized up for a moment, screaming, and his shouts of pain became accompanied with the mad roar of Charles as he dove through the creature's torso, tearing it apart and coming to a rolling halt next to Daniel. The sword and shield fell to the ground as the body began to fall apart, the tendrils exploding into puffs of black smoke and the eyes flickered and died, no longer shining three points of purple at the detective and his bisharp. D'Artagnan's voice cracked in Daniel's head, his voice now a tiny whisper in the back of his mind, as he spoke:

_Hard-won battle brings regicide_

_Once-immortal old King Who Crossed_

As the screen went black in his head, Daniel stole a look at the xatu, and saw him sink to the ground, unconscious.

The sword rose into the air and arms made of shadow, tipped with yellow fingers seized the shield and it soared towards the body of Vassal. Yellow fingers? Now that it was not actively thrashing about and swarming with black tendrils, Daniel realized the aegislash's coloration was off. The blade, crossguard and handle were a deeper, grey iron color, but with a strange, otherworldly shine. The edges, instead of the usual cleaner, whiter steel color were blood red. Daniel got to his feet, unsteady, his body protesting his standing more than ever and mumbled, "What the fuck is it doing?" He looked at the rapidly disintegrating mass of rotted skin and black, worm-like mass of tendrils that the aegislash had pulled itself from and then over to the aegislash again.

It stabbed itself into Vassal's chest and the tethers that connected it to the torches in the room sprung to life. The sword began to shudder and groan and the worm-like black tendrils began to wind its way out of his arms and into the body of Vassal. "Oh, FUCK NO. NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!"

Charles sprinted to the body, huffing and drawing a fist back. The new amalgam of man and pokemon sat unnaturally up, his limbs spasming and his mouth opening far beyond what human jaws normally permitted. Charles' punched connected squarely with Vassal's chest, and a loud cracking sound rang out. Daniel forced himself towards the scuffle with immense difficulty now.  _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Just stay upright, fuck. Just stay upright._  Everything ached now, and the burning in his forearm and back had left him hunched over.

Vassal seized Charles by the throat, his arm exploding into black tendrils as skin peeled away and muscle snapped and interwove with them. Vassal's entire body convulsed and shook as he stood, popping and cracks now filling the chamber. His neck began to stretch and tear as a howl rose in the air. The black tendrils exploded out of his nose, his mouth, his ears and his eyes and the strangely wet voice of Agilrad barked in a distorted, tortured tone, "THE KING. DOES NOT. FALL." The black mass that draped itself across the throne began to recede, revealing the stonework underneath. It dissipated into black smoke, then coalesced into squirming masses of inky black that snaked up to Vassal's corpse and wound their way around his legs and up his body.

Daniel fell to his knees, coughing and spraying the ground with more blood and shouted, "JUST TEAR THE FUCKING SWORD OUT CHARLES, FUCK, ANYTHING!" Daniel caught the gleam of Ricard's pistol laying beside the white, ashen remains of his friend and began to crawl towards it.

The bisharp snarled and drove his forearm sharply to the right underneath the arm that clutched his neck, cutting it clean off. He dropped to the ground, coughing and grabbed the aegislash that stuck out from Vassal's chest. He tugged the sword free with another loud snarl that transformed into a scream. He brought the pokemon down in a wide arc into the ground, smashing it flat on the stonework, and rained dozens of blows upon the sword. Agilrad began to glow violet. Charles raised both of his arms over his head and the violet aura exploded out of the aegislash and into his hands, only to be driven down directly into the center of the blade immediately after.

* * *

With a loud, metal crunch the blade exploded into several fragments that slid across the ground in every direction. The aegislash blade was naught more than a handle and crossguard, a frozen and unblinking eye, and a short section of destroyed blade. Charles roared as he picked up the remains of the pokemon and threw it at the stone throne in the center of the chamber, where it lodged itself into the stonework that comprised the back of the throne with a loud crunch and twang.

He turned to Vassal's corpse and saw the black tendrils that covered the corpse beginning to explode into black smoke and shrivel into tiny gray worm-like entities that crumbled to ash. He looked over the body, its skin partially blackened and torn along the arms and neck. The jaw and cheekbones were noticeably broken beneath the peeled and torn skin and had begun to reform into something else. What exactly, Charles was unsure of. He turned towards the others and made his way over to the ash pile that was once their friend, where he saw Daniel clutching the man's pistol and sifting some of the pure white ash through his fingers.

Charles caught glistening streaks on his friend's face in the dim light of the chamber. He put a hand to Daniel's shoulder and squeezed. Daniel coughed and wiped his mouth, sniffling and finally muttered, "He's gone." He gestured at the bodies and pieces before them - at Vassal, Terrence, Karan and Agilrad. " _They're_  gone." He coughed again and grimaced. "It wasn't for nothing, Ricard. Thank you."

Charles heard a low growl and turned to look at its source. Karan struggled to get to her feet, hissing all the while, her knee mostly reformed, through still bleeding. The tendrils that had mended her wounds had died with the King. With eyes wide with what Charles took as grief-stricken insanity, she screeched, " **YOU KILLED.** _ **MY**_ **KING."**  She readied herself to pounce, but Charles instead walked towards her, his face set into a frown.

" **Lost. Fight is over."**  He crossed his arms and stared Karan down. " **You. Have. Lost."**  Karan screamed and leapt at him, and with a restrained punch, he caught her mid-leap with a jab to her chest and sent her flying back several feet. " **I am weakened. You still can't win. Escape with your life."**  Karan clutched her stomach, wheezing, tears leaving trails of dark patches of fur on her face. She'd lost. She couldn't regenerate. She couldn't even fight. " **Goodbye."** The bisharp shook his head at the ground in pity and turned on the spot.

An anguished shriek of rage rose in the air. Then, a gunshot.

Charles spun about when he heard the shot ring out in time to see Karan poised to pounce again. Her eyes widened as she glanced down at her chest, at the tiny patch of blood that stained her fur. She brought a paw to her chest touched the wound lightly, then raised the claw to her eyes and watched a single drop of blood fall from it.

More tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her face as she sank to her knees and looked lethargically up at Charles. He looked over his shoulder, at Daniel, his face torn between sorrow and hate. He clutched Ricard's pistol in his hand, the ornate weapon shining in the darkness, a small trail of smoke snaking up and out of the barrel. "Bleed out, you cunt," he spat. He dropped the pistol as a fit of coughing consumed him.

Tendrils of thick, purple smoke exploded out of the wound, from her mouth, ears and nose, and viscous purple sludge leaked from her eyes instead of tears. She let out a long, piercing, carrying scream, her body convulsing with such force that she fell forward and thrashed across the floor. The smoke dissipated into the air with quiet, raspy screams that originated from nowhere. She flailed about and came to a gradual halt flat on her back. Her chest heaved and she coughed, spraying blood into the air, the spurts of blood coming from the hole in her chest now slowing, and tracing an ever longer streak of dark, damp fur down her body.

Her head fell limply to the side and with obvious difficulty she gave Charles a long and searching look. Her voice was distant, her tone incredulous. It cracked like newly formed ice on a sidewalk and she began to hyperventilate, her paw pressing against the wound futilely, trying to staunch the flow of blood from her punctured heart. Her rapid breaths became short and ragged as she rasped, " **I want to live."**  She fixed her unblinking gaze on Charles' eyes and the dim lights behind them sputtered out.

Charles walked numbly towards the weavile's corpse and crouched down before her.  _Why? For what reason? Given up. Done. Lost. Hardly a threat now._  He looked over his shoulder at Daniel, who stared back and called out, "What? She's still breathing somehow?" Charles hummed a negative and turned his attention back to Karan. He closed her eyes and spotted a piece of leather around her neck. He tugged on it and found it was a simple leather necklace.

He should hate this weavile. The evil she'd wrought, the number of lives she'd taken, and her choice of company were all deplorable. He shook his head. She'd lost the fight. For no reason other than suicide would it have been wise to attack him. Or perhaps, something more. He growled and pulled the necklace from her and returned to Daniel, contemplating the thin piece of leather. It was stained with blood.  _Given up. That is true. Murderer. Also true. Damaged. Excusable? No. Killed in cold blood. Ruined families. Attacked Daniel._  His gaze lifted up to Daniel, who struggled to his feet, holstering pistols and sheathing daggers, then making his way to Ana to rouse her and Jean.

Charles clutched his head and shook it. Everything Daniel had done was to help them all.  _Saving lives. Pursuing good. Killing necessary. Seeking redemption._  His thoughts snagged on that last word and he growled.  _Redemption._  His head throbbed and he pushed the thoughts from his mind.  _Not right now._

* * *

Daniel shook Ana's shoulder, trying his best to stifle his coughs. Nearby, Viola and Johannes both stirred. Daniel recalled arcanine and continued to shake Ana's shoulder. "Ana, please wake up hon, please." His raised his voice and leaned in towards her ear. "Ana, wake up." The hexer began to stir and shiver, and slowly her eyes opened and searched blearily for Daniel's. Familiar purple irises marked with a black spiral pattern met his own gray eyes. He sighed. "You're alive, thank the gods. Can you sit up?"

She did so with some difficulty, still shivering, and Daniel pulled his jacket off to throw around her. "Sorry if it gets blood all over you. I reopened my wound." He touched his back, underneath his vest and shirt and felt warm, wet, raw flesh. He brought his fingers up to his eyes - it wasn't much blood, but it wasn't the puncture in his skin that had him worried. His breathing was still labored, but now that he'd been exerting himself significantly less, it wasn't nearly as bad. "God damn this fucking hurts. We need to get going." He coughed. "Just give me a moment."

Johannes sat up, groaning and clutching his stomach. "What the hell happened? Daniel? Did...did we win?" He doubled over and whimpered. "My stomach and insides feel like they're on fire." Viola sat up next to him and immediately pulled him into an embrace.

" _Johannes, you're alright! You're alright!"_ she cried in the heads of everyone in attendance. She began to sob into the crown of his head. " _Thank the gods."_

"Viola," grumbled Johannes, "Let go, please, my stomach is on fire. I think that shuppet did something when it dove through me."

" _What? What's happening? Are you alright? Daniel, what's wrong with him?"_  she replied at top speed, turning to look at Daniel with bloodshot eyes.

"I don't-"

Ana cut across Daniel and replied, her voice quiet, "His soul is damaged. It will repair with time. Stay close to him, Viola." She smiled at the gardevoir and then gingerly lifted Jean in her arms. "You aren't versed in the arts, but your heart is a beacon." She rubbed Jean's cheek and whispered something inaudible to the banette that caused her to stir, then looked up at Viola. "And that is more than enough."

Johannes struggled to his feet, still clutching his stomach, and began to walk towards the throne. Viola sprung to her feet as well, though she nearly fell over when she did as light-headedness gripped her. She reached out, unsteady, and grabbed hold of her husband's arm and asked, " _What are you doing, Johannes?"_

"I want to see what the hell this thing over here is. This throne. Look at it. It's...not just a throne." He approached it and shouted in amazement, "Daniel, this is a sarcophagus! And there's some kind of mirror attached to this throne, it's incredible. It's...it's pristine, more or less. Are these fractal patterns being reflected  _in_  the mirror? And what the hell is this onyx slab here? There's runes on it! Some dials and buttons too!"

"Jo. Please get back here. I have to tell you something," called out Daniel. He pulled Ana into a close hug and kissed her, mumbling, "We're gonna get out of here in a minute. I just have to wake up d'Artagnan." He stood and walked over to the xatu and shook him.

"Wake up. Please, d'Artagnan. Wake up. You saved my life back there, and…" He coughed, though less for his lung and more to fight down a lump in his throat. "You helped us. We did it because of you and…" He stopped, and then rasped after a pause, "Ricard."

The xatu's eyes opened and he rose to his feet. " _Leave me."_  The voice echoed around the chamber. He was broadcasting it to everyone, aloud. " _Leave me by him. I will stand the vigil."_

Johannes came up next to Daniel, holding Viola by the waist to support her and looked between the pokemon and the detective. "What's this about a vigil?" He furrowed his brow and then looked around.

Daniel looked at his feet and sniffed. "Ricard." He turned about and trudged to where the ashes of his friend lay and stared down at them wordlessly. Ana stood, Jean floating beside her and went to pull Daniel's head down onto her shoulder. To the other side of Daniel came Charles, who looked on at the remains in silence.

"No!" shouted Johannes, once he'd hobbled over to the pile, clutching his stomach, Viola following closely alongside him. "No no no no, how did this happen?" he looked to Daniel for a response, but the detective only rubbed his face and then pointed to limp body of Terrence nearby.

D'Artagnan stepped over to the gathering and looked down at all that remained of his best friend. Tears streamed down his face, and a low note rose in his throat, echoing through the chamber. Another followed, lower in pitch. Then another, higher this time.

The song was slow, drawn out, and discordant. Each note bit into Daniel's being, straight through to his core and chilled his soul. He struggled to avoid hiding his face and his tears, and looked around at each person and pokemon around him in turn. Viola's face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Johannes looked with on eyes that betrayed both disbelief and grief, his mouth covered in shock. To his right he heard Ana mumbling a prayer in Sinnohan. Every so often she would pause and Jean would reply a statement that was incomprehensible.

He turned to look down at Charles, who continued to stare on at what was left of Ricard before he looked to Daniel, his face set into a frown and his brows turned down. The bisharp mumbled something Daniel did not understand.

The song ended, but continued to echo in the chamber for another minute longer. When it at last died out, d'Artagnan said quietly, " _Collect him, please."_

"Does anyone have some kind of vessel to hold ashes in?" asked Johannes, his eyes still staring at Ricard.

"Jean does. Part of the usual necessaries I bring with her," replied Ana. She unzipped the banette's mouth and pulled a small urn from her in seconds. "D'Artagnan." She set the urn down before the xatu.

A faint glow of fuschia surrounded the ashes and they were scooped from the ground in much the same way one would scoop sand. The cap on the urn popped off, surrounded by the same fuschia aura, and the xatu poured the ashes into the urn, then capped it again. It rose from the ground and floated next to d'Artagnan's head.

" _Let us be rid of this place."_


	18. Chapter 18

Daniel tore his eyes away from the xatu that stood silently before the mausoleum and looked back to Johannes, Viola, Ana, Jean and Charles. The cool breeze that blew through the cemetery kept the sun bearing down on them from becoming too hot. He looked around at the sea of gravestones and mausoleums that rose out of the earth around him.

Ricard had handled his possible death with the same attention to detail as he did his accounts. Daniel had found two separate hand-written files detailing procedures for, as his late friend put it, "Savoury" and "Unsavoury" deaths. Daniel smiled in spite of himself.  _Wasn't that just like the bastard. Lousiest series of phone calls I've ever made in my life._  He sniffed and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head all the while.

What the procedures also accounted for, however, left Daniel with questions as to just how many connections Ricard had hidden from him. A considerable sum of money (after fees and bribes) alongside all of Ricard's personal effects came under possession of one Ana Prevost.  _Accounted even for that._  Ignace Coquin was an alias - Daniel had never officially changed his name, and had made it clear on several accounts that he was uninterested in having anything associated with him that might get Kalosian bureaucrats to dig into his assumed name  _or_  his actual name.

He shifted his gaze to the ground between them all and muttered, "That's that. Thank you for being here, you two." He looked at Johannes and then Viola. "I realize you need to get going, so...thanks." He stepped forward and offered Johannes his hand.

The researcher took it and nodded. "Sorry to cut and run just a few days after, but they stopped my vacation short to brief me on something they want done in another region. Wouldn't say where, 'cos I apparently need to be present to sign off on some paperwork." Johannes let go of his hand and moved to shake Charles, Jean's and Ana's hands, while Viola moved forward to hug Daniel.

" _I should apologize,"_  she said, the tone in his head meek and grateful. " _I doubted your abilities and allowed worry to consume me. Until the very end when my form failed me and I began to slip out of consciousness, I still held that worry in my heart. And you kept fighting."_  She turned to look at Johannes and then looked back at the detective. " _Thank you. You kept us safe."_

Daniel sighed. "Yeah, of course. 'Least I could do really. You both…" He paused, and thought over his words. It didn't matter that he'd lied to them about their possible connection. In all likelihood, there was no way they had been "marked" by the dusknoir. Yet, he had worked to keep them safe as he could, and they had proved themselves invaluable. "You both were a huge help. Thanks."

"What do you plan on doing?" asked Johannes.

"I've got some shit to get sorted." He glanced over his shoulder at d'Artagnan and shook his head. "A  _lot_  of shit to get sorted."

"D-don't swear in cem-metaries," stuttered Ana in admonishment.

"Sorry. I'll keep in touch, Jo. Could always use someone to rope into my terrible choices." Johannes managed a small smile. "Any idea what the work is?"

The researcher shrugged. "Pretty theoretical stuff is my guess. Not too sure, they wouldn't even tell me the region. Still, might take advantage and tell them a little bit about...what was his name? Agilrad?"

Daniel nodded, but looked uneasy. "Aegislash don't often possess bodies and do crazy hex magic bullshit," he said. Ana cleared her throat pointedly and Daniel mouthed an apology to her.

Johannes slumped. "I'd probably just get laughed away without much proof. I'll just do some digging at the Research Center before I leave for wherever it is they're sending me."

"Do you want all the books on behaviors that Ricard left me?" asked Daniel, suddenly struck by the thought.

The researcher's eyes widened and he nodded with enthusiasm. "That'd be great! I can do a whole lot with those report compilations in my spare time." He grinned, sheepish. "Even if most of what I'd be doing is just reading them before bed."

"You- you read those before...bed?" asked Daniel.

Johannes did not answer, but instead pointed past the group where d'Artagnan stood. The xatu had turned around and gazed out at them all. " _I have given it thought, Daniel,"_  he called to them. He approached the group and stopped a few feet away, his back rigid. " _Per the directive of Ricard's late wishes, I have come to the decision he left me with before his departure from the world of the living. I name you: trainer."_  He inclined his head and let out a long, low note of sorrow. " _Let us be on our way. I've all I need of Ricard with me now."_  At this, he glanced down at the charm pouch around his neck that Ana had made for him. It bore a small pinch of Ricard's ashes and a wooden charm that Daniel had, at d'Artagnan's request, whittled the details of an  _Illumis_  traditional coin into.

"You gonna be alright, d'Artagnan?" asked Johannes.

The xatu did not respond.

The awkward silence stretched out for a full minute before Johannes said, "We should be going. Our flight out is tonight and we haven't finished packing quite yet. So...thank you." He looked at everyone in turn. " _All_  of you. I'm glad we were able to help in what little ways we could."

" _Please rest,"_  added Viola, her eyes betraying a newfound worry, specifically at Daniel and d'Artagnan. " _You all desperately need it."_  She stopped when she turned her gaze to Charles and she frowned. She gave him an awkward hug, the both of them overcompensating for the blades jutting out of the bisharp's chest. When she pulled away, she said something quietly to him that Daniel could not understand. Charles looked away at her statement and shrugged, mumbling something indistinct and then nodding once.

Viola and Johannes waved goodbye to the group and departed.

"Could have answered them, d'Artagnan," said Daniel, watching their retreating backs.

" _I do not have the Sight to See the answer to that question, Daniel."_

"When we've got everything sorted we'll see to making that question easier to answer," he replied.

" _Everything sorted? I was not aware that we had left something unsorted, Daniel. Ricard's instructions and arrangements were complete."_

"Not quite. One of Ricard's cleaners gave me a very interesting phone call. Sent out his little party of "janitors" to clear out the king's chamber. Place is older than dirt, and the throne, the sarcophagus and that weird panel Jo was talking about caught the eye of one of the more history-crazed men. Turns out, that place is some hot shit to history buffs. As if that crystal I recovered wasn't bad news enough. But I know for a fact that I don't want to know what or who the hell that King was."

" _It is imperative we investigate, Daniel. It is what Ricard would have wanted,"_  replied d'Artagnan.

"Then I'll keep an open line of communication with this guy, but we're leaving Lumiose. I'm not letting Ana stick around here any longer and I could use a break-"

"Mr. Winters," said a curt voice from behind.

Daniel froze and looked over his shoulder. A man dressed in a tweed overcoat stared back.  _Shit._  His hand slowly made for the pistol he had holstered underneath his jacket. "I think you've got the wrong guy," replied Daniel casually, "Name's Igna-"

The man had his pistol out in an instant. "Hands where I can see them,  _now._ "

Daniel's hand froze. "You're outnumbered, you know-"

The man whistled, and three men dressed in plain clothes that Daniel had taken to be visitors or mourners at other gravesites spun about, drawing pistols and leveling them at the entire group. "No I'm not. Hands where I can see them. All of you."

"Listen to him," mumbled Daniel, turning around to face, his own hands raised.

"Your name is Daniel Winters, not Ignace Coquin. Grimaud arranged for a note to be delivered to me. It contained your name, Ms. Prevost's name, and even Mr. and Mrs. Talburn's names. A considerable list of your achievements - and your  _past_  - was also contained on the note. Along with instructions to burn it.  _Another_  favor Ricard wanted. And the bastard had to go and die so I couldn't turn it down for fear of having the spirits themselves judge me," explained the man. He cleared his throat. "Pierre Rousseau. LPD. I'm here to have a chat with you about favors and a dead man's switch."

He raised a hand in the air, his index finger pointing straight up, and drew circles. The men closed in, their pistols lowered but their expressions still hard. "My men will keep them safe while we speak. Privately. As a show of good faith, I will not disarm you. But keep it stowed, do you understand?"

Daniel looked back at the others and grumbled, "Sure, what choice do I fuckin' have?"

"That's the spirit," replied Pierre, smiling. He holstered his own pistol, to Daniel's surprise, and gestured towards the mausoleum where Ricard's urn sat. "I think I will explain while I pay respects to an old pain in my ass. Shall we?" He swept Daniel forward and the two walked up to the mauseoleum. Pierre stopped for a moment to scan the shelves and then placed a hand on Ricard's urn once he'd found it. " _Repose en paix mon ami._ " He was silent for a short while and then he removed his hand. He rested the hand on his pistol and began to dig around in his overcoat with other.

Daniel noticed his stance was relaxed. Pierre's hand sat on his pistol as an almost lazy reminder to not mess with him. He was either very good at faking or actually relaxed. "Here, look at these photos. You can ignore the text for now," he said at last, tugging a small manila envelope free from a pocket.

He did so, opening the folder and pulling out a small sheet of paper bearing a set of typed paragraphs and a paperclipped pair of photos. He nearly dropped the packet when he checked the face on the first photo. "Hideo? Hideo Tanaka? He's...he's alive?" he asked, turning to look at Pierre.

"Yes. Quite alive. He contacted his brother, a member of my department by the name of Akihiro, in a state of hysterics. Mentioned something about inter-regional crises, needing to get out of the region, and begged him to get him police protections of some kind to do so. Offered a lot of money for it. Poor bastard doesn't know how law works." He cleared his throat and then continued, "Akihiro wants to help him out. They've been estranged for over a decade now, and he's told himself that if his brother wants to give up the underlings he's earned, the nice house and easy women, it's because something bad is happening or is about to.

"What that is, however, I do not know. And I can't spare anyone to do this. Akihiro has a job to do. He's a straight-laced man with a sense of familial obligation. And he'll be eaten alive by Morrissey's gang." He reached over and tugged Hideo's picture free from the paperclip, revealing a handsome man's face. His bright green eyes and mess of ginger hair stared back at Daniel with malice only he could see.

"This fucker is still at it, huh?" he grumbled.

"Yes. He's dancing atop his tower in Unova as the gangs of the city burn to the ground around him. And pretty soon he'll be riding a freefall collapse himself," supplied Pierre.

"Why are you-"

"Ricard was a man of conviction," said Pierre, cutting across Daniel. "He toed the line of law and lawlessness in the way only accountants can." He paused and smiled. "Well, that's wrong. That would be stockbrokers. Either way, he had his contacts. You know this. I know this. I couldn't be his only point of contact in the legal side of  _Illumis_. And I'll never know who the rest were.  _You'll_  never know who the rest were. He took contacts with him to the grave.

"Good. Man had his affairs in order. Knew what he wanted to do and balanced it with what he  _had_  to do. Put me in uncomfortable positions because I had to bend rules myself, but it was always in service of his convictions. Convictions I knew were good. He'd helped me before. It was only fair. Granted, he drove a hard bargain on what constituted fair repayment, and it definitely grated on me, but in the end, I knew his intentions were good. Stories of pokemon stolen away from brothels or saved from drug labs that then  _mysteriously_  burned to the ground - he was doing good in the way I could only dream of.

"And then he mentioned someone to me. During the last phone call I ever had with him, he mentioned  _his associate_. Not by name. By that title. Associate. And here he stands. Some associate indeed. Former gangster turned detective, seeking to do some good in the world." Pierre chuckled and patted the urn fondly. "Crazy bastard." He turned away and looked out at the cemetery. "Flip that page over."

Daniel did so; typed on the back of the paper was his name, Ana's name - everything. "This is the note," he whispered.

"That is exactly the note. You can burn it yourself. But if you do, I recommend you take note of the information that's written on the front. A meeting place, a phone number and a set of passphrases and code names. Just in case, you know? I can't push favors onto you, Daniel. Not the favors owed by a dead man." Pierre started down the steps of the mausoleum and then stopped. "But I believe in gratitude. Conviction. Justice. Tit-for-tat. I believe in protecting home and hearth. Much like Ricard did, really. Couldn't bear to see home turn into what it's become. Fought back against it. Just like you did, no?"

"Unova isn't my home," said Daniel, his tone flat.

"No, no, I'm sure it's not. It'd be here, I'm sure.  _Illumis_. One bag of  _merde_  for another." Pierre raised a hand in farewell.

Daniel watched the man gesture to the other officers and walk away. He stopped and turned to face Daniel before he got out of earshot and called out, "We all get a little homesick sometimes, Daniel." Pierre and his men walked away.

The others approached Daniel. Ana in particular looked concerned. "W-what was that c-conversation a-about, Daniel?" she asked.

Daniel mulled over Pierre's words and scanned over the text on the note the officer had left him with, then shook his head. "Ana," he said at last, "we've got some packing to do."

"A-are we m-moving?" she asked, her eyes wide. On her shoulder, Jean's eyes widened as well and she leaned in.

"You are, at least. You and Jean. Somewhere safe, while Charles and I take care of something in Unova." Ana opened her mouth, fear alive in her welling eyes, and he added, "No buts. No. I almost lost you twice now. I'm not doing that again. You've done more than enough. More than...more than you should have. More than I should have asked. I almost got you killed, Ana. Or worse." He lowered his gaze and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm not doing that again. You're headed off to somewhere remote, where you can't be traced."

Tears streamed from Ana's eyes and she shook her head into his chest, sobbing and clutching at his back. "D-Daniel, p-p-please, no. N-not again. I-I-I just got you b-back."

Daniel closed his eyes and reached up to wipe them. "It won't be today, Ana. We've got to get all our stuff collected and moved to the house we had you in, and I have to get everything coordinated from there anyway. Have to find you an apartment or something in…um…"

" _Alola. After a lifetime in the dark, standing among the spirits of the departed, it would do Ana well to have her time in the sun,"_ provided d'Artagnan. " _Perhaps this too will allow me to answer Johannes' question, Daniel. I will accompany her."_

"Alright. Alola it is. But not right now," he replied. He lifted Ana's chin and kissed her forehead. His thoughts drifted to the timeline the note laid out. Dates flew through his head, and he felt his stomach turn as he thought of all the coordination and planning he'd have to do. He shook it from his mind. "Not right now." he said again.

* * *

Charles turned his gaze from them and down to the leather necklace he'd taken from Karan. The bisharp rubbed his thumb across the thicker portion that formed a sort of leather pendant and was stained with blood, and stared at it with a faraway look in his eyes. " **Not right now."** He clenched his fist around the necklace and closed his eyes.

" **When?"**


	19. Epilogue

Keala stepped into the cavernous chamber and looked around. "This is incredible, Diane. And we got to be  _first_. A pristine site, can you imagine?" The sneasel riding on her back purred. Mobile floodlights illuminated the massive stone throne in the center of the room, as well as a large stone sarcophagus. She approached the sarcophagus and inspected the inscriptions etched into its sides. "This is old, Diane. Way old. This is from a time beyond the ancient kingdoms often discussed in Kalosian history. This is a  _First Era sarcophagus."_  Diane yawned. "Yeah, yeah, I know you don't care. You could at least pretend." A wet, sandpaper-like texture ran across her cheek as Diane licked it. "Alright, alright. You're forgiven." She looked up at the throne and noticed a thin crack in the center of the backrest that did not extend far. She frowned.  _Odd._

She walked slowly around the fixtures and her eyes caught a glistening, pristine mirror that reflected fractal patterns beneath its surface. She approached and her eyes traced down to an onyx slab bearing a set of buttons and dials. A divot, roughly the size of one of the stone devices she'd been provided with by the KMHPS, stuck out to her. "This is almost too easy sometimes, you know that?" She popped the stone sphere into the divot and the console began to shine with runes that had been etched into it. An ancient script appeared on the mirror.

"Uh…" She looked from button to button, and twisted a dial. The script changed to a longer set, then changed back. She pushed a button. New set of script. She pushed another button. An image, heavy with static, grew from the center of the mirror and showed nothing but darkness. Keala ducked down and looked around the stone pedestal the panel had been set into. After a minute of searching, she felt an indented patch of stone, smoother than the rest.

"I wonder if…" She pressed, and with a loud click, the button depressed into the pedestal and the sound of stone grating against stone filled the cavernous room. She tugged her flashlight free from her belt and shone it at the source of the noise. A section of wall had slid down into the ground, revealing another room. Keala jumped into the air with glee. "By the Tapu, we found something  _big_ , Diane!" She rushed forward, the sneasel on her back meowing a loud protest at the sudden movement.

The room was filled with more mirrors, onyx panels, and now bulky bits of machinery inlaid with glittering strips of silvery metal and glass bulbs. A rush of millenia-old stale air greeted her and she wrinkled her nose. "You'd never know this stuff here is older than dirt itself, Diane," she mumbled, waving her hand in front of her face to ward off the dust the sliding wall had shook loose. She approached the center panel and traced her flashlight across its surface.  _Another divot._  She fetched her stone sphere from the previous panel and inserted it into the one before her. The mirrors in the room lit up, the ones to her immediate left, right and before her all powered on first and revealed several lines of script.

She stared down at the panel before her and her eyes found a rune inscribed in a hexagon that appeared curiously familiar: it was an ancient depiction of an eye. She pressed her finger against the symbol and it shone. A matrix of lines and right angles exploded from the hexagon and covered the slab, and the stone sphere she'd set into the divot glowed brightly. Keala fumbled with her pocket and pulled her phone free, flipping to its camera application as quickly as she could. She tapped the screen to turn the flash on and began to take picture after picture of the panel, then looked up at the mirrors. She nearly dropped her phone.  _Maps._  The script had turned into maps of regions she recognized. Yellow blips came to life on the map to her left and to her right, but script filled the center mirror, writing over the map. A red blip came to life and blinked insistently.

She snapped more pictures as her breathing quickened. Diane gave her an inquisitive meow. "We're gonna be  _famous_ , Diane! Uh, somehow! I don't know what this is but-"

The mirrors went black, and after a moment, the fractals reappeared.

"What!? NO!" She looked down at the panel in a frenzy and found the sphere had stopped glowing. In fact, all of the panels had ceased to glow. "What happened? Did this thing...run out of power?" She pulled the sphere free and looked at it glumly. "Lame…"

She heard footsteps approaching, and Diane jumped from her back and raised her claws, hissing all the while. A man in a raincoat appeared. "Conrad." She sighed. "Take it easy, Diane. It's just Conrad."

The man stared back at her and said quietly, "The guard told me someone had slipped inside bearing official paperwork. Didn't expect it to you be  _you_ , Keala."

She shrugged. "Back at you. What're you doing here?"

"Same as you are. Investigating. Can't let you steal all the glory." He stepped past her and looked up at the mirrors and then down at the panels. "But I think you already did."

Keala beamed. "Don't be so slow next time," she replied. "Hop up Diane, let's get going."

"Stop," he said, turning back to face her. Keala's stomach froze over. "Did you figure out how to power these?"

She fought down the urge to shiver as she looked him in the eyes. They seemed to bore straight into her soul.  _Are his eyes…_  She shook her head, half at the thought and half at his question, then said in an apologetic tone, "I couldn't get much out of them, stupid sphere ran dry. Or something, I dunno."  _No need to give up my secrets._

He stared back at her for a second longer. She swore she saw his hand clench and unclench. "So it goes. Can't have  _all_  the luck then, can we?"

Keala laughed nervously and excused herself. Once she was confident she was out of earshot in the tunnels that led to the surface, she mumbled to Diane, "He's got a stare chilly enough to freeze  _you_  over." The sneasel hissed. "I know, I know. You don't like him much either. But! We got out with our secret safe." She pulled her phone from her pocket with glee and turned to her photos. "See these things? Maps. There's home!" she said, tapping the photo she'd taken of the map with a flashing red blip. "Dunno why Alola has this flashing red blip but, whatever." She swiped the screen and brought up the second map. "And Johto's got...well, a lot of what the next one's got..."

She swiped the screen again."Hoenn! "We got an offer from the Society to check out Hoenn as well for them, and I think we're gonna take it. No one knew where to look, but with this…" She smiled. "That lucky pendant of yours is gonna come in handy, Di. Just you wait."

The scratchy, wet feel of sandpaper graced her cheek again.

* * *

Conrad rolled his eyes as he watched the woman leave.  _Idiot. Little too close for comfort there, but nevertheless, she's found exactly what I needed. An observation chamber. Perfect._  He pulled a stone sphere from his pocket. A piece of crystal jutted out from the top of it. "Tell me, tell me, tell me," he droned as the mirrors reflected maps and an array of yellow and red blinking blips, "tell me of the times long past and the places I should go." He pulled his raincoat aside and ran a finger down the hilt at his waist. "Tell me where the new cornerstone goes."

He gave a start and dug into his pocket, swearing.  _Damn girl and her meaningless drivel. I'm late, aren't I?_  He pulled a watch from his pocket, roughly the size of his palm. It echoed the appearance of the mirrors above him, and displayed the time and date with clean green lines. He spun a dial atop the watch three clicks to the right and then pulled on it once. The face of the watch went blank and flipped over with a mechanical whir. He pushed on the button jutting from the dial and the display came to life again, this time in clean blue lines.

He was late.

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

ジョウト地方

 

Hark! land of solitude's brother.

You are blinded, you are robbed!

O silver moon beneath the tides,

O golden sun that flies eternal,

Hear my calls and prayers:

The wind has stilled;

Gone are the whispers from the air that said:

“Help. I am stolen.”

 

Gold and silver graces, hear my plea:

“Stranger tides are coming,

I will require thee.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends Au Coup Par Coup. It's been a hell of a ride, and I certainly hope you've enjoyed it. I realize the ending is a tad bit unorthodox, and the epilogue even more so, but I've got big plans in store, so stay tuned. I promise it'll be worth it.
> 
> Special thanks to Vryheid, ee4ee, Saikou, Philo and Invictus for proofing, providing feedback, or kicking my ass over details, mechanics, and exposition. Without their help, I don't know where this story would have ended up, but I can assure you the world and its characters would not be quite what it came to be without them.


End file.
